Baralim: A Dagnir's Tale
by Wolfete
Summary: A crossover tale of an unexpected tempestuous relationship between Glorfindel, Seneschal of Imladris , and Aurdae, the Lady of Summer that withstood the passing of Ages, of sundering fates, the advent and aftermath of war, and the uncertainty of the future. Tolkien's world is much more varied and darker than the original tale and secrets long lost are told...
1. Prologue

**Title: Bara-lim A Dagnir's Tale**

**By:** Wolfete

**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fan fiction. All identifiable artwork, characters, places, events and concepts belong to their respectable creators. This includes, but is not limited to any publicly recognizable material that is the exclusive property of Tolkien Enterprises and/or New Line Cinema_, _Joss Whedon and/or Mutant Enemy Productions, and any material or concepts that are borrowed from other works on this site or others as after dozens and even hundreds of read stories one tends to subconsciously use such material. All other characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Neither this fiction site, nor the author has received any payment for this story. However all rights are reserved by the author only, including the right to reproduce this story, or portions thereof, in any form. This includes transmitting it in any form or by any means, electronical or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the author.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **This fan fiction is not meant to be read by children, teens under the age of fifteen without parental consent, overly dramatic teens and adults, people who cannot discern reality, who may have a nervous disposition, and those who are overly sensitive to any of the following- This story contains imaginary blood and gore, explicit descriptions of medieval torture, mild scenes of a sexual nature, mild language, imitable acts, graphic violence, smoking, drinking, cursing, racist situations, politics, criminal activities, anger management techniques, hints of sexual perversion, child abuse, spousal battering, incest, descriptions of animals scavenging on bodies found in wild places, and other unsavory doings, as well as corruption in local governments and the courts.

**A/N:** It has been a little over a year since this was updated and I have made some significant changes to the plot line. So please reread each chapter. As always this is a Work in Progress.

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**Book One: A Weaving of Threads **

**Prologue: Hell Hath No Fury **

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_**O star of strength. **_

_**I see thee stand **_

_**And smile upon my pain; **_

_**Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand, **_

_**And I am strong again.**_

_**Alone at last, we can sit and fight.**_

_**And I've lost all faith in this blurring light,  
**__**But stay right here we can change our plight.  
**__**We're storming through this despite what's right.**_

The old moon was rising above the Old Forest casting an eerie gleam over it. The Old Forest was one of the few survivors of the primordial forests which covered most of Eriador before the Second Age. Now it was bordered in the east by the Barrow-downs and in the west by The Hedge. Within these bounds were secreted things that had rarely been seen since the First Age of the world. One such creation was in the eastern edge of the forest. The night had drawn close about the house on the grassy knoll, soft lantern light gleamed from its windows warding against the nefarious creatures that trespassed nearby. It sat in the east of the Old Forest, on a shelf in the high ridge that bordered the Barrow-downs. Just above the house was the Withywindle Grotto where the river sprang forth from deep in the earth. The grotto was also the far edge of house's gardens.

Inside sat a strange man and with a bright ultramarine jacket and yellow boots on. Iarwain Ben-adar, Oldest and Fatherless he was called by the Elves. He was eldest of Eru Ilúvatar creations, he fell somewhere between what a Vala and a Maia was. Mortal if he should be slain, but he could also live through all the ages of the world. Once he had leapt upon the hilltops across the wide lands of Middle-earth. Now, though, he was settled in the Old Forest with his wife Goldberry the River-daughter, and had set for himself unseen bounds which he rarely crossed. Those boundaries were that of the Old Forest. To the West was the High Hay, it had been planted many generations ago by the Hobbits, and was now thick and tall, for it was constantly tended. It ran all the way from Brandywine Bridge, in a big loop curving away from the river, to Haysend (where the Withywindle flowed out of the Forest into the Brandywine): well over twenty miles from end to end. To the North was the Southern Bree-fields, where great tracks of rich farmland was cultivated by the men of Bree. To the East was the Barrow-downs and to the South was the Enedwaith both were quiet places and sparsely populated. Yet for all of these boundaries he could still sense the happenings beyond them.

He sat frozen near a great hearth staring into the flames that burned there. Listening…Walking along the chords of song in the night. Songs. Names. These things had power. Even the simple sounds of the forest; the whisper of wind in leaves, of water on rock, the chatter of small creatures and the hoots of owls. His focus was near and far, east and west. There was where the news came from, where the danger was. In the near west he heard the sonorous slow rhythms of the Ents that still hid within the Old Forest. They and some of their counterparts the ent-wives had taken sanctuary within these lands during the end of the Second Age. The Tree Herders were few and had to rely on several powerful huorns, who spent most of their days moving little, watching as silent protectors, usually deep within the darkness of the woodland. The forest was more dangerous at night because the trees were more guarded, but the danger was only for the unwary and those who disrespected the forest.

Next, came the rollicking cheerfulness of Hobbit song from the Shire. The three kindred's, Fallohides, Harfoots, and Stoors lived and worked the land tending it with love. This added a great joyful strain to the music, but it was marred by a rising Shadow that would soon set fire to Hobbit hearts. Farther West upon the Gulf of Lune sang the deep, lively enchantments of the Teleri's triple hornpipes. The Havens are what mortals call them, but they are three distinctive regions that had once been ruled by Ereinion was the northern part of the kingdom of Lindon and Harlindon the southern, here lived the majority of the Exiled Noldor, Sindar, and Laiquendi. The eldest city of the region was Mithlond; here lay the great harbor and quays of the Falmari that sheltered the massive swan-ships that made the passage west, the tessarakonteres and their relatives of the navy, and the lighter trade route ships. Beauty, war, fear, and hope entwined the music of the west, blending into a symphony that was a stark contrast to the east.

To the east sat a space of great silence; the Northern and Southern Barrow-lands. Here was only a thrumming triad of memory, wrights, and something else. An echo of words that permeated into the very stone and whispered on the wind, old words that hinted and teased a wellspring forth. Its beginning was from a trickle of prophecy within a mirror, a silvered basin filled with water in which visions of the past, present and future wavered across it. The waning sliver of the moon had illuminated the pool charging it with a power and allowing past, present and future to reflect upon song, giving voice to warning and welcome.

"The world is changed:

I feel it in the water,

I feel it in the earth,

I smell it in the air...

Much that once was is lost….."

The weaving words drew figures in the flames of the hearth showing events that were taking place within that barren stretch of downs. The fog rolled up to form walls and rose above them, and as it mounted it bent over their heads until it became a roof: they were shut in a hall of mist whose central pillar was the standing stone.

The hobbits felt as if a trap was closing about them; but they did not quite lose heart. They still remembered the hopeful view they had had of the line of the Road ahead, and they still knew in which direction it lay. In any case, they now had so great a dislike for that hollow place about the stone that no thought of remaining there was in their minds. They packed up as quickly as their chilled fingers would work.

Soon they were leading their ponies in single file over the rim and down the long northward slope of the hill, down into a foggy sea. As they went down the mist became colder and damper and their hair hung lank and dripping on their foreheads. When they reached the bottom it was so cold that they halted and got out cloaks and hoods, which soon became bedewed with grey drops. Then, mounting their ponies, they went slowly on again, feeling their way by the rise and fall of the ground. They were steering, as well as they could guess, for the gate-like opening at the far northward end of the long valley which they had seen in the morning. Once they were through the gap, they had only to keep on in anything like a straight line and they were bound in the end to strike the Road. Their thoughts did not go beyond that, except for a vague hope that perhaps away beyond the Downs there might be no fog.

Their going was very slow. To prevent their getting separated and wandering in different directions they went in file, with Frodo leading. Sam was behind him, and after him came Pippin, and then Merry. The valley seemed to stretch on endlessly. Suddenly Frodo saw a hopeful sign. On either side ahead a darkness began to loom through the mist; and he guessed that they were at last approaching the gap in the hills, the north-gate of the Barrow-downs. If they could pass that, they would be free.

'Come on! Follow me!' he called back over his shoulder, and he hurried forward. But his hope soon changed to bewilderment and alarm. The dark patches grew darker, but they shrank; and suddenly he saw, towering ominous before him and leaning slightly towards one another like the pillars of a headless door, two huge standing stones. He could not remember having seen any sign of these in the valley, when he looked out from the hill in the morning. He had passed between them almost before he was aware: and even as he did so darkness seemed to fall round him. His pony reared and snorted, and he fell off. When he looked back he found that he was alone: the others had not followed him.

'Sam!' he called. 'Pippin! Merry! Come along! Why don't you keep up?'

There was no answer. Fear took him, and he ran back past the stones shouting wildly: 'Sam! Sam! Merry! Pippin!'

The pony bolted into the mist and vanished. From some way off, or so it seemed, he thought he heard a cry: 'Hoy!

Frodo! Hoy!' It was away eastward, on his left as he stood under the great stones, staring and straining into the gloom. He plunged off in the direction of the call, and found himself going steeply uphill. As he struggled on he called again, and kept on calling more and more frantically; but he heard no answer for some time, and then it seemed faint and far ahead and high above him. 'Frodo! Hoy!' came the thin voices out of the mist: and then a cry that sounded like _help, help!_ often repeated, ending with a last _help!_ that trailed off into a long wail suddenly cut short. He stumbled forward with all the speed he could towards the cries; but the light was now gone, and clinging night had closed about him, so that it was impossible to be sure of any direction.

He seemed all the time to be climbing up and up. Only the change in the level of the ground at his feet told him when he at last came to the top of a ridge or hill. He was weary, sweating and yet chilled. It was wholly dark.

'Where are you?' he cried out miserably.

There was no reply. He stood listening. He was suddenly aware that it was getting very cold, and that up here a wind was beginning to blow, an icy wind. A change was coming in the weather. The mist was flowing past him now in shreds and tatters. His breath was smoking, and the darkness was less near and thick. He looked up and saw with surprise that faint stars were appearing overhead amid the strands of hurrying cloud and fog. The wind began to hiss over the grass.

He imagined suddenly that he caught a muffled cry, and he made towards it; and even as he went forward the mist was rolled up and thrust aside, and the starry sky was unveiled. A glance showed him that he was now facing southwards and was on a round hill-top, which he must have climbed from the north. Out of the east the biting wind was blowing. To his right there loomed against the westward stars a dark black shape. A great barrow stood there.

'Where are you?' he cried again, both angry and afraid.

'Here!' said a voice, deep and cold, that seemed to come out of the ground. 'I am waiting for you!'

'No!' said Frodo; but he did not run away. His knees gave, and he fell on the ground. Nothing happened, and there was no sound. Trembling he looked up, in time to see a tall dark figure like a shadow against the stars. It leaned over him. He thought there were two eyes, very cold though lit with a pale light that seemed to come from some remote distance. Then a grip stronger and colder than iron seized him. The icy touch froze his bones, and he remembered no more.

The flames seemed to darken and spark as the scene ended and there in the silence of that place the thrumming grew into a crescendo of sound and deep magic sweeping open a resonance from another place. It drew anyone that could hear into its refrain…

Death was her gift. Battle boiled around Buffy, hordes of Turok-Han and slayers fought. The scythe twirled in her hands, the hum of metal ringing in her ears. She knew her prey from where they stood, the stench of their skin, the scent of their blood, the off-putting sound of their weapons as their nonhuman hands tightened around them. She could feel the vibrations of their ragged breath through the ground. It took only two blows with the scythe before her first demon was down and the others closed in.

Clutching the cold metal with her fingers, she spun around, holding the scythe horizontally in both hands to ward off two strikes. Once they were deflected, she flipped to her feet and swung the scythe in an arc, watching as the demons flew backwards and down.

One sprang out from behind her, slashing at her spine. She twisted away, the blow catching the demon off guard. She swung the scythe up, smirking as it slid from the demon's hip to its shoulder, splattering her with the foulest blood she had yet to come across. With that demon gone, the others charged her.

For every one she took down, it seemed two more were ready to take its place. The fight felt as though it had gone for hours, but it didn't really matter to her. The first rush had been of adrenaline and the second was that she was truly in her element as the slayer and these things stood no chance against her fury. The potentials danced with as much deadly grace, yet still the Turok-Han came.

For a second Spike was at her side, then he suddenly stepped back. Glancing toward him she saw confusion and pain as he touched the amulet at his throat. Wincing he cried out, "Buffy! Whatever this thing does, I think it's—"

Even as he spoke the enemy seemed to become fiercer knocking the line of Slayers back. Turning from Spike she called out to the others, "Keep the line together!" A line that Buffy knew that they would be incapable of holding for long. Grunting, Buffy dodged another demons powerful punch and lashed out with a roundhouse kick that sent it stumbling back into one of its brethren. "Hold the line!" she called, her voice vying for attention against the battle that tossed their world into chaos. "Drive them to the edge! We can't let them do…"

Pain cut the words from her throat as she looked down to see a sword tip, piercing her abdomen. Buffy stumbled forward, collapsing to the ground, face-first. For long moments her vision faded to black… breath tearing through lungs that were beginning to find the air thick and difficult to breathe. Until suddenly Faith was kneeling at her side, a hand on her shoulder.

"Buffy!"

Weakly leaning up on her elbows, Buffy pushed the scythe to Faith, "Hold the line."

Grimly nodding Faith took the scythe, returning to the battle waging around her. Buffy stayed on the floor, trying to breath… to find the strength to rise again. Long moments passed as she lay with her head on the floor. She could hear the voices of Faith and Rona, knew that they were nearby guarding her as they held the as a wave of power seemed to rush through her body, Buffy felt her muscles contract and tense. She could feel the magic of something pulsing… the amulet?

Gasping now, Buffy felt the world begin to swim away as a wave of lightheadedness caused stars to dance in her vision.

"No!" Buffy gasped as her slayer sense burned through the disorienting and dizzying waves that were crashing into her small frame. Fingernails digging into the stone at her sides, she felt another wave of Turok-Hans crash into the line of Potentials. As her eyes cleared she saw someone standing before her.

Pulling up tight, Buffy forced her trembling limbs to straighten as she looked up into her own green eyes, her own lips pulled down in a cold smirk that had never before twisted her pale features.

"Oh no..." the First said as she looked down at Buffy's wound reflected on its own body. " ow! Mommy, this mortal wound is all...itchy." Suddenly its eyes flashed back to Buffy, "You pulled a nice trick. You came pretty close to smacking me down. What more do you want?"

Through gritted teeth as she sat up, Buffy spoke, "I want you...to get out of my face."

"Oh poor little slayer." The First said sweetly, "But why come when you knew that you were going to die?"

"We're restoring the balance," Buffy murmured as she eyed the mirror-image.

"We'll see about that," the First returned, the smirk shifting until it was a smile that caused Buffy to recoil in disgust. Even as the First dropped down to crouch in front of her, "You won't survive this."

Suddenly the pulses of magic increased and the world shifted around her. It wavered and distorted, gasping, Buffy bent her chin towards her chest, her eyes clenched shut against another wave of dizziness - and yet when she opened them, it was only to the sight of the First fading. Unable to rise she saw Faith seem to fight with a renewed strength, swinging the scythe with a mighty force, knocking three Turok-Han off the cliff at once. Vi takes out one after another after another. Kennedy disarms one and dusts another. Buffy eyes strayed across each of the still standing Potentials, but her eyes move to Spike as he gasps and stumbles backward away from the fight clutching his chest. A bright blue light shoots up from the amulet, burning his hand.

"Oh, bollocks. Buffy!" As Spike began to shout the blue light tunneled through the ceiling and turned into liquid sunshine.

Shouting his name, Buffy began to crawl toward him. Before she could get to his side, the amulet refracted the orange light out into the hellmouth…. concentrated rays of sunshine. Buffy finally reached his side as the Turok-Han are dusting throughout the hellmouth. The ground around them started to shake and Faith called out to the others.

"Everybody out, now!"

Everything seemed to pass in slow motion as she stared up at Spike, the pain faded from her wound, even the blood slowed, the slayers fleeing for their lives around her. The vampire spoke then; his voice was filled with amazement. "I can feel it, Buffy."

"What?"

"My soul," he said, the pain in his face evident, but his voice... soft and hushed. "It's really there. It kind of stings."

The moment sped up again as the hellmouth began to collapse. Crumbling stone and bright sunlight danced around them. Some part of her knew that the wound was mortal, she felt as though she needed to say something. She wouldn't leave him, she knew this. She wanted to be there at the end. But his eyes held hers, so warm and passionate and kind, exactly what he wasn't.

Slowly, she reached out, her fingers intertwining with his burning ones. "I love you," she murmured, knowing these were the words he needed to hear.

After a moment, his surprised look faded. "No, you don't. But thanks for saying it." His gaze held hers for a moment longer. "Now go… you've got more important places to be."

Faith is suddenly there gripping her right shoulder, "B, come on!"

Shaking her head Buffy spoke, "I can't…. I can barely move."

"Buffy!" the brunette slayer cried angrily.

"No, Faith. You're the leader now. Take care of Dawnie for me." As she said this, the walls around them seemed to implode, thousands of tons of rock falling like bombs around them, clouding the brilliant light with dust.

"I won't leave you here." Faith said as she moved to pull Buffy to her feet.

Body trembling, Buffy forced the air through her aching lungs. "I'm bleeding out Faith. Even if you get me above I won't survive this. Please let me rest."

"Gotta move, lamb. I think it's fair to say school's out for bloody summer. We want to see how it ends."

Faith lowered Buffy and drew her hand away. Looking around she took off to the steps, scythe in hand. Her whispered goodbye trailed behind her. "Bye, B."

Even as Faith left, the hellmouth crumbled around them. Spike stood tall in the shining light, grinning from ear to ear and laughing. "I can feel my soul…." He dusted slowly still laughing as Buffy crotched near him. The pain from her wound was excruciating, and the pulsing magic of the collapsing hellmouth did not help. A strong tremor sent her again to her belly, igniting her world into flashes of color so bright that she was blinded by their intensity.

Memory rushed across her mind as she laid there… she again was standing before the Potentials speaking. "So here's the part where you make a choice: What if you could have that power...now? In every generation, one slayer is born... because a bunch of men who died thousands of years ago made up that rule. They were powerful men. This woman," pointing to Willow. "Is more powerful than all of them combined. So I say we change the rule. I say my power...should be our power."

Amongst the ruin of memory a timeless voice whispered in a flowing language, "I amar prestar aen…"

"From now on, every girl in the world who might be a slayer... will be a slayer."

"Han mathon ne nen…"

"Every girl who could have the power... will have the power... can stand up, will stand up."

"Han mathon ne chae…"

"Slayers... every one of us."

"A han noston ned gwilith."

"Are you ready to be strong?"

"Much that once was is lost. For none now live who remember it."

Her mind suddenly went dark and all voices were gone….

The last flames turned to embers in the hearth, but far to the West far beyond his lands and across Alataire and through black and roaring waves that ran over leagues of unlit and foundered shores that drowned before the Second Age a single mournful tolling bell rang. Its call signaled Judgment and the gathering at the Máhanaxar.

Eldest blinked at the embers slowly coming back to himself, heaving a wary sigh at foolish, fickle Fate. What new tales were to begin and old memories told. Tears and toil it was bringing to Arda and even he could see no ending to what was to take place. Tom leaned forward and took hold of a stroker and riffled the embers around until a small flame sprang up brightening the room once more. At a table in one corner of the room sat a golden haired river-woman, Goldberry sat spinning quietly watching her husband as he listened. He was greater in magic than she, but she was a minor power in her own right. She too saw the scenes in flame, yet she held her silence and waited. Waited until Tom rose speaking aloud, "The time has come for old Tom to take a walk down to the Barrow-downs."

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	2. Chapter One

**Title: Bara-lim A Dagnir's Tale**

**By:** Wolfete

**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fan fiction. All identifiable characters, places, events and concepts belong to their respectable creators. This includes, but is not limited to any publicly recognizable material that is the exclusive property of Tolkien Enterprises and/or New Line Cinema_,_Joss Whedon and/or Mutant Enemy Productions, and any material or concepts that are borrowed from other works on this site or others as after dozens and even hundreds of read stories one tends to subconsciously use such material. All other characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Neither this fiction site, nor the author has received any payment for this story. However all rights are reserved by the author only, including the right to reproduce this story, or portions thereof, in any form. This includes transmitting it in any form or by any means, electronical or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the author.

**Rating:** T

**Warnings: **This fan fiction is not meant to be read by children, teens under the age of fifteen without parental consent, overly dramatic teens and adults, people who cannot discern reality, who may have a nervous disposition, and those who are overly sensitive to any of the following- This story contains imaginary blood and gore, explicit descriptions of medieval torture, mild scenes of a sexual nature, mild language, imitatable acts, graphic violence, smoking, drinking, cursing, racist situations, politics, criminal activities, anger management techniques_, _hints of sexual perversion, child abuse, spousal battering, incest, descriptions of animals scavenging on bodies found in wild places, and other unsavory doings, as well as corruption in local governments and the courts.

**A/N:** It has been a little over a year since this was updated and I have made some significant changes to the plot line. So please reread each chapter. As always this is a Work in Progress.

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**Book One: A Weaving of Threads **

**Part One: A Road to Rivendell **

**Chapter One: Sunlight on the Barrow-downs**

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_**Not **__**So long she lived **_

_**Will thy tomb report of thee; **_

_**But **__**So long she grieved:**_

_**Thus must we date thy memory. **_

_**Others by days, by months, by years, **_

_**Measure their ages, thou by tears**_

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_Enderi 3, 3018 _

_Great Tomb, Northern Barrow-downs_

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Consciousness was slowly returning to her, something to which she had not consented. She would have remained in the comforting darkness, a very painless darkness forever. However, as she came to herself again, it was to a cold murmur, that rose and fell. Buffy frowned inwardly, knowing something was wrong with that. The voice seemed far away and immeasurably dreary, sometimes high in the air and thin, sometimes a low moan from the ground. Out of the formless stream of sad sound, strings of words shaped themselves: grim, hard words that chilled the Slayer-blood.

" Cold be hand and heart and bone,

and cold be sleep under stone:

Nevermore to wake on stony bed,

Never, till Sun fails and Moon is dead…."

As her mind grew sharper, so did her eyes. Turning her head slightly, a pale greenish light illuminated four other small figures all clad in white. Three of them lay on cold stone, circlets around their brows, and gold chains around their waists. The fourth was scrambling forward with a sword. Buffy could not see what he had struck, but something shrieked and the light went out. The darkness seemed to press upon her mind again, and the chill stole strength from her vision, until only a small desperate voice sounded in the dark.

" …! Tom Bombadil!" The voice spoke in a language that she did not understand, except for that single name. Yet, it rose into a full and lively sound. After a few moments there was a deep silence, her Slayer-senses could hear five heartbeats and then suddenly a voice from far away took up the lively song. A loud rumble of stones rolling and falling heralded rays of streaming light. Real light, the plain light of day that flowed through a low door-like opening that appeared at the end of the chamber.

A strange man stood framed against the sunlight. An old battered hat with a tall crown and long blue feather stuck in the band was perched on his head, a blue coat and yellow boots finished out his clothing. Buffy lay in confusion as the man removed his hat and came into the darkened chamber singing words that she could not understand.

Suddenly there was a cry and part of the chamber on the other side of her collapsed. Then there was a long trailing shriek that faded away into an unguessable distance and then silence. She still could not move from the cold stone slab at her back, and the strange man and the other creature ignored her. They spoke and then carried out the other three that lay beyond her. Buffy tried to follow, but muscles refused to respond. The sunlight lay on her face for long moments, warming her. Slowly the pain from the stab wound intensified and she could feel the blood seeping into the white linen that she wore. Closing her eyes against this strange world her mind raced…. _Where am I?…. Am I dead?…_

A presence stood over her, drawing her back to the chamber. The strange man was staring down at her, a hand rubbing a long brown beard. His blue eyes pierced through her mind and soul. She could feel his mind touch her own, the Slayer part flashed in her eyes and she growled, and "Who are you? Where am I?"

His red face wrinkled in laughter, "All is well _Dagnir_. My name is Tom and you have returned to Arda."

"Returned? What do you mean returned?"

"The Valar always did have a sense of humor. Nevertheless, no memory can soon be mended. I know the tune for you."

"Mend me! I don't think so. What are you?"

"You are young and I am old. Eldest, that is what I am. Be forewarned: I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless. I was there when the Powers split the worlds and the Blessings were released. I knew the First Evil and the First Slayer, and you are the last of a now Splintered Line."

"Oh please, not with the cryptic again! Why can't the Powers ever give me a straight answer?"

"Sun and shadow! I'll give you answers, if you behave yourself."

"Behave myself? I can't move and I have a misguided leprechaun speaking riddles."

Tom shook his head, "A quick wit, _Dagnir_. However we have no time for it," his voice turned into a tiny song.

"Sleep now my warrior lass!

Sleep and hear me lulling!

Warm now be heart and limb!

The cold stone is fallen;

Fear no dark dreams! Heed no cold words!

Night under night has flown, sun and shadow rest!"

Weariness pressed against her mind and she sank into a semi-conscience; even as Tom grunted as he lifted her.

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Frodo watched as Tom stamped out of the barrow carrying the girl that had lain beyond his friends. He laid her on the grass a short distance from where the hobbits had been laid. Frodo drew close as Tom knelt next to the girl, hand laid above a spreading stain of blood. His eyes were closed and face stern as he sang in a low voice. Frodo could not catch the words, but the paleness faded from her limbs.

"Master Bombadil, who is she?"

Tom's eyes opened, "Aurdae, a child of sun and shadow. She called herself _Dagnir_, but she was born Buffy-Anne, of the House of Summers. Such names have power and she is not ready for what is coming."

"How did she come to be here? She is of the Big Folk, but she is not from these parts."

Tom sighed wearily, "Here or there. Youngest and darkest_. Dagnir_ must go with you, trust her as you trust Gandalf. She can go where others cannot. Bear what few can bear. Do you understand?"

Frodo was quiet as he watched the woman breath softly and then turned to Tom, " Yes and no, but she can come with us until I met with Gandalf. He will know what to do."

"That he will. Yet, for now she is mine to care for. Her wound is beyond my skill to mend fully."

"Will she die?"

"Neither mortal nor immortal. Her death will come when the Valar release her from her duty. For now a snippet of song and a warm touch will hold her until I return with supplies to tend the wound." Tom said as he rose. "Let her rest for now, while I attend to one last task."

Tom returned once more to the barrow, and there was a sound of much thumping and stamping. Then he came out once more bearing in his arms a great load of treasure: things of gold, silver, copper, and bronze; many beads and chains and jeweled ornaments. He turned and climbed past the stone lintel to the top of the green barrow, laying the treasure out in the sunshine. For a long moment he stood in the wind and looked down upon the three hobbits, which had been laid on their backs upon the grass at the west side of the mound. Then raising his right hand he said in a clear and commanding voice,

" Wake now my merry lads!

Wake and hear me calling!

Warm now be heart and limb!

The cold stone is fallen;

Dark door is standing wide; dead hand is broken.

Night under night is flown, and the Gate is open!"

As his words finished, the hobbits stirred, stretching arms and rubbing eyes. Merry was the first to spring up in amazement at the sight of Tom above them on the barrow-top. Then he looked down at himself, in the thin white rags, belted with pale gold.

"What in the name of wonder?" began Merry, as the golden circlet slipped over one eye. Then he stopped, and a shadow came to his eyes. Releasing a shuddering breath, he closed them. "Of course, I remember!" he said.

"The men of Carn Dum came on us at night, and we were worsted. Ah! The spear in my heart!" He clutched at his breast and trembled. " No! No!" he whispered and opened his eyes. "What am I saying? I have been dreaming."

Then he looked at Frodo, "Where did you get to?"

"I thought that I was lost," Frodo said, "but I do not want to speak of it. Let us think of what we are to do now! We must go on."

"Dressed up like this, sir? Where are my clothes? Sam said as he flung his circlet and belt off; looking helplessly around as if expecting his clothes to be lying somewhere at hand.

"You won't find your clothes again," said Tom, bounding down the mound with a laugh. He danced joyfully around them, a hand touching one shoulder then another driving the dread from their hearts.

"What do you mean?" asked Pippin, looking at him, half puzzled and half amused. "Why not?"

However, Tom shook his head growing serious again. " You have found yourselves again, out of the deep water. Clothes are but a little loss, if you escape from drowning. Be glad, my merry friends, and let the warm sunlight heat now heart and limb!"

"What of the girl?" Pippin asked as he looked at her. "She still sleeps."

"Aye, Sun and shadow walks in her dreams. The sunlight will warm her, then she shall awake. Now come friends cast off theses cold rags! Run on the grass, while Tom goes a-hunting!" He sprang away, whistling and calling. As the four hobbits watched him go away southwards along the green hollow, he began to cry for the ponies.

" Hey! Now! Come hoy now!

Whither do you wander?

Up, down, near or far, here, there or yonder?

Sharp-ears, Wise-nose, Swish-tail and Bumpkin,

White-socks my little lad, and old Fatty Lumpkin!"

His voice floated back across the wind, even after he disappeared into the hills.

For a long time the hobbits sat basking in the sun until the morning air grew warm. Merry and Pippin soon where running about in the grass at some game or another, while Sam settle next to Frodo. Frodo watched his friends for a long time until Sam broke the silence. " Who is the lady?"

"Aurdae or Dagnir, is what the Elves call her, but Tom said her name is Buffy-Anne, of the House of Summers."

"Such a strange name. What then do we call her?"

"Tom used Dagnir, so perhaps we should too."

"Is she dangerous?"

"Like the hearth-fire or a sharp knife, but not to us. Tom had little to say about her except that I could trust her as I do Gandalf, and Tom has not lead us astray."

"Did he say if she was one of the Big Folk? She could almost be a hobbit with that height, but she looks more like a Man."

"He spoke in riddles, perhaps he can answer you better?"

"Perhaps."

The hobbits settled back into silence, basking in the sunlight. While Buffy lay in restless dreams….

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_Buffy's first impressions were of whispering voices and of staring up at a sky full of stars. As her mind took this in her body rolled to the side and she found herself within a spacious ring made of thrones. Eleven of them were occupied by tall, beings that were surrounded by light. She could barely stand the aura of goodness and power that flowed off them to take in the details of face or clothing. Suddenly another of the beings was at her side. She could barely sense anything more than power coming off of him. He was tall, with sable hair plaited into two three-stranded braids and the rest lay sweeping down his back.__ He wore a knee-length grey broadcloth tunic over a cambric shirt with long sleeves. His breeches were of black éolienne and knee-high __brodequin graced his feet. A long black cloak with a broach made of silvered iron and a single ruby held it pinned below his neck. His face was grim and he did not look at her. She did not exist as a person in that moment. _

_Suddenly a voice came from the throne in front of her, "My brother Námo, Welcome." She looked up into fathomless eyes and quailed at the being's implacably silent regard. For long moments there was silence and then it spoke again. "What is this thou hast brought before our assembly. It is not of Arda, but of Time before Time."_

"_Elder King, I bring Nehtar. She came before the gates of my hall and through the route reserved for those fea that reside within. A__ firima in form, but with the remnant of a Maia entwined within her fea. She danced and played within my garden becoming strange and wild amongst those paths gathering flowers and chasing golden bees and butterflies, becoming comrades with those who she has never met or loved. They hid her from those maiar that serve within the Halls of Mandos. For how long I do not know, but I saw a flash of her when she danced. It took five maiar to subdue her and bring her before me. She is bewildered and has lost her way. She is beyond my power. I bring her to you as I bring all other fea before the __Máhanaxar__ for judgment." _

_The Elder King was silent for a moment and then he spoke. "What Will brought her to your halls must be known. She is out of place, beyond where she was set and now we must call the Speakers that reside with her circle."_

_Suddenly the world seemed to waver as there came a music thinner and more pure than any she had heard before, full of longing as if pipes of silver uttered crystal notes and threadlike harmonies, then it changed into depths of gloom piercing through the darkness and flame that surround the Spheres and beyond the circles of all worlds. As the music faded away a tear of bright light appeared before the assembled thrones and two beings stepped from the light. Both had bronze-colored skin with blue eyes and blue markings down their arms and chest. The male was slightly shorter than the female and his hair was golden and metallic in appearance, while the female's was obsidian sheen. There was anger in their faces and a sneer upon their lips as they viewed the Elder King before them. In unison they spoke as if their thought and word were one. _

"_You try our patience. __You have called us before you__, lower being. Why have you brought us here?"_

_The Elder King returned distain with distain, "One of your Champions has wandered far and now is here." _

_The Oracles turned as one to look where the Elder King's eyes had strayed to take in the form of their Slayer. The male's anger seemed to grow even fiercer as he took in the sight of her. "One of ours or one of yours does not matter to the youngest and darkest of the One's creation. She is rebellious and twists the paths of fate to her own whims. Her time has ended and she is dead, now she must only atone." Even as he spoke he raised his fist and seemed to twist it within the air. _

_A heavy, sharp pain clutched her chest and mind and Buffy__ began screaming and some dim part of her, aware of what was being done to her feared she would never stop. Her body convulsed under the Oracles power snapping bones and twisting sinew until there was a great wrenching within her and Buffy faded into darkness. How long the darkness lasted she did not know, but when she became aware again Námo was holding and rocking her gently. What words he sang she could not understand, but she sighed softly against the grim gentleness. After several long moments he stopped and helped her to stand, holding her upright. In those moments she realized her arms and legs were bound with small silvery bands and a heavy cord of chain linked wrist to wrist, ankle to ankle, and then attached to a heavy belt of metal links at her waist. Buffy moved slightly testing the chain and found that the links did not bend at her strength. Namo squeezed her shoulder warningly and she stopped her movement and looked up. __Before her was the same scene as before but now crouched at Namo's feet was the dark skinned First Slayer. White paint and dreadlocks had not changed but her aura had. The predator was leashed and she was calm…. _

_"__What is going on?" Buffy demanded of anybody that would answer her._

_No one spoke to answer her, instead the First Slayer rose and stood facing her. "I am….. I was once as these before you are, but I fell turning my back to the light. I became Morgoth's greatest servant. His Dark Hunter. It was I the first born feared, which made them tremble. I took them and made thralls of them. Until I was taken, entwined, and remade into a shadow of what I once was. Now I am part of each slayer who is awoken. I live, breath, and die as they do. Yet something has changed. You are as I once was and our entwinement has made me….you….us into truly one." The First Slayer slowly turned to the Elder King and the Oracles. "We are one and cannot be unmade. I am no longer the one known as Buffy, nor __Huine, nor Nehtar. __I have no name. No speech. I live in the action of death, the blood cry, the penetrating wound. I am destruction. Absolute ... alone.__" The First Slayer slowly stepped backward into Buffy. Its flesh melting into her own until she and it were one once more. _

"_Lesser being! Betrayer! Traitor to the Light is what you are!" The Male Oracle turned to the Elder King. "Send it to the Void! She is not a Champion. The human that awoke with Huine within her has corrupted her."_

_The Elder King replied sharply, "You were given no power to pass judgment on any creature. In your arrogance you have wrot more harm than good. She died with the circles of your world and instead of going to her rest found a path between the heavens to come here. It is we who will judge and you who will witness what will come to pass, unless you wish to take her with you?"_

_The female Oracle spoke, "__To what end? To nullify her noble death? To leave her atonement unfulfilled? Her fate has ever been in shadow. Her being here now in this place is unknown to us, but it is the Will of the One. Sun and shade is her path and it will be long before her fate is ended. Death is her gift and death will never be gifted to her. All will soon be made clear. For every door that closes, another opens."_

"_Then you would have us judge her here in the __Máhanaxar, rather than return her to her rest." asked a female voice from the left._

_"She is here. You found her, thus you keep her until she finds herself within our domain or elsewhere." replied the female Oracle._

_As Buffy listened to them decide her fate she grew angry. Who did they think they were? What right did they have? The sudden anger made her feel stronger and she decided she would not go to her end without speaking against them. She shook her self from Namo's grip stepping forward, "What right do you have in judging me? I will not play your games! Glory wanted to play games and she learned not to play them with me! I will not stand here and be judged by neither you nor any other for my deeds!"_

_She was the Slayer and she did not beg on her knees for mercy from a more powerful foe. She fought until she died or won. The Elder King and the others that sat within the thrones seemed to grow sterner and the Elder King said in an even sadder voice. "We shall see about that. I think we have heard enough. __Let judgment commence." _

_At those words it seemed as if a great weight fell upon her shoulders drawing a startled gasp from her as she attempted to resist against it. Buffy __had no conscious memory of falling to the ground as the enthroned Powers forced her to relive every moment of her life. She laid there, her eyes open but unseeing. To Buffy her __mind flooded with images from her past, images of startling detail, as if she were there, living them all over again.__ Every memory was carefully sifted, layers of falsehood and self-delusion stripped away, leaving only unvarnished truth — cold and unforgiving. There was no cradling arms, nor sympathetic sorrow. Only truth. Scenes from childhood until the awakening of her slayer blood passed before her eyes. She was a child again weeping at the terrors and failures that the truth brought her. __Peeling away all the illusions and delusions she had used to cover up and cover over those aspects of herself she no longer wished to acknowledge as belonging to her._ _She never heard her screams or inconsolable sobs, or her words imploring for mercy. She never knew how long it lasted, never knew the patience with which the Powers examined her every thought and motive, never knew that this was not the punishment, that it was only the judging. That it had to be done without love or hate to release the truth. _

_Finally the onslaught of memories stopped and she lay in the circle gasping for breath. There was a deep pain in her abdomen, and her hand instantly went to it. There was blood there on her shirt and hand. She was bleeding. Why was she bleeding? She looked up and found herself still within the circle of thrones… __Máhanaxar… Still or again? Twelve thrones were now occupied and a whisper of names came across her mind as she stared at the Powers….. Valar that resided in each seat. Manwe, the Elder King…..Ulmo, Lord of Waters…Aule, the Smith…..Orome, the Huntsman… Namo, Judge of the Dead….Irmo, Master of Dreams…Tulkas, Champion of the Valar….Varda, Queen of the Stars…Yavanna, Queen of the Earth…Nienna, Lady of Mercy…..Este, The Gentle…Vaire, the Weaver…..Vana, the Everyoung….Nessa, the Dancer…. Buffy trembled at their gaze and waited…._

_"It is again Aurdae. Once and twice you have passed into the Halls of Mandos and caused havoc among the Fea that reside there. The last time __a doom was laid upon you: Tears and Years unnumbered would be given to you to walk within the sun and shadow of the world. The Valar would fence your fea from exiting the circles of this world until all that the One wishes of you is fulfilled and a final judgment can be laid upon you. This is not that final judgment. You were summoned between the circles of this world and your own and now you have been returned. It is time to remember the th__ralldom and command that was laid upon thee; to care for the poor and hungry. To protect the weary and sick. It is the corrupt you may claim. The evil, who thou shall seek. With every breath thou shall hunt them down. Each day you will spill their blood till it rains down from the skies. Know this in thralldom there is no freedom, either in hröa or in fëa. Your will is not your own and you live on the sufferance of others. And if you ever seek to escape your thralldom you will be hunted down mercilessly and brought back to even greater shame. What you sow within the Circles of Arda thou shall reap. __The first judgment is unfinished and will once again flow forward, but you will also see what your choices have wrot."_

_The great weight returned and again __her __mind flooded with images from her past, images of startling detail, as if she were there, living them all over again.__ Every memory was carefully sifted, layers of falsehood and self-delusion stripped away, leaving only unvarnished truth — cold and unforgiving. There was no cradling arms, nor sympathetic sorrow. Only truth and choices made. Then suddenly __Buffy stood upon the steps of a massive tower watching as an old man in gray robes rode up to the edge of the steps before dismounting in a hurried rush. Another stood on the steps dressed in similar robes, but of white. His voice was good-natured but it hid some slippery tone that made her hackles rise._

_"__Smoke rises from the mountain of Doom. The hour grows late, and Gandalf the Grey rides to Isengard seeking my council. For that is why you have come, is it not, my old friend?"_

_Gandalf bowed slightly naming the other, "Saruman."_

_The name broke the scene turning it to darkness and the sound of a ring bouncing on stone. Looking down she saw a plain golden ring at her feet. Suddenly a woman's voice seared across her senses, "Much that once was is lost, for none now live who remember it. It began with the forging of the great rings. Three were given to the Elves, immortal, wisest and fairest of all beings. Seven to the Dwarf lords, great miners and craftsmen of the mountain halls. And nine, nine rings were gifted to the race of Men who above all else, desire power. For within these rings, was bound the strength and will to govern each race. But they were all of them deceived, for another ring was made. In the land of Mordor, in the fires of Mount Doom, the Dark Lord Sauron forged in secret a master Ring, to control all others. And into this Ring, he poured his cruelty, his malice and his will to dominate all life. "One Ring to rule them all." One by one, free lands in Middle-Earth fell to the power of the Ring. But there were some who resisted. A last alliance of Men and Elves marched against the armies of Mordor and on the slopes of Mount Doom, they fought for the freedom of Middle-Earth." _

_A great army marched across a stony plain, men in winged helms and other taller beings in finely linked mail, so delicate that it seemed unlikely that it could protect them, stood in ordered ranks. __The splendor of their banners marking out the great princes and lord had gathered. __Buffy found herself standing at one of the beings sides. Long dark hair, flashing eyes turned toward her. " Dagnir, Uuma ma'ten' rashwe, ta tuluva a'lle!"_

_Confusion crossed over her face and some memory in her rose up, " Elrond…."_

"_You should not be here Dagnir. This is not your battle."_

_For months the enemy had been engaged. The Alliance had pushed back Mordor's hordes, their __aeipathy was only matched by their stubborn pride. King Amidir refused to place the command of the Sylvan nation under the White Council's control. Oropher and he had divided themselves upon the northern flank of the army. Elrond was in charge of the Nordorian archers and pike men, he had cautioned her to remain behind in camp… to remain safe. Nowhere in this world would be safe if the Elves fell here and her own visions had shown her their death…Glorfindel had tried to stop her…tried to reason with her, but here she was._

_Unsought words flowed from her lips, "I could not let you face them alone. They come…."_

_A boiling horde of creatures rushed headlong toward them. Orcs…. Distorted creatures that were the descendants of Elves taken by Morgoth. Memories of knowledge rose in her mind as she watched a battle that raged around her. Images that she seemed to know, her eyes lost Elrond in the battle… The orcs had driven a wedge through the army trapping her and Amdir's forces near the Marshes. The bog was a treacherous place to fight, but fight they did. The pale hair of the Sylvan's whirled around her…Their dying screams causing further disarray until something struck her from behind. _

_She lay in the blood-drenched mud as darkness overtook her again and the woman's voice sounded over the din of the battle, "Victory was near. But the power of the Ring could not be undone. It was in this moment, when all hope had faded, that Isildur, son of the king, took up his father's sword. He cut the one ring from its master's hand, and Sauron, the enemy of the free peoples of Middle-earth, was defeated. The Ring passed to Isildur, who had this one chance to destroy evil forever, but the hearts of men are easily corrupted. And the ring of power has a will of its own. It betrayed Isildur, to his death. And some things that should not have been forgotten were lost. History became legend. Legend became myth. And for two and a half thousand years, the Ring passed out of all knowledge. Until, when chance came, it ensnared a new bearer. The Ring came to the creature Gollum, who took it deep into the tunnels of the Misty Mountains, and there it consumed him. The Ring brought to Gollum unnatural long life. For five hundred years, it poisoned his mind, and in the gloom of Gollum's cave, it waited. Darkness crept back into the forests of the world. Rumor grew of a shadow in the east; whispers of a nameless fear, and the Ring of Power perceived its time had now come. It abandoned Gollum. But something happened then that the Ring did not intend. It was picked up by the most unlikely creature imaginable…"_

_The voice faded once more and Aurdae's mind broke under the pain of her body and the remembering of events that were of another life. She did not feel herself being lifted and cradled like an infant, nor did she feel the warding being placed upon her mind. Its purpose was two-fold, to allow her mind to heal and remember and to keep her alive…_

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The morning passed into mid-day, when Tom reappeared, hat first, over the brow of the hill, and behind him came in an obedient line seven ponies: their own five and two more.

The last was plainly old Fatty Lumpkin: he was larger, stronger, and fatter than their own ponies. However, the other strange pony was in every way his opposite, larger in the way of a horse, but delicately built. The horses only followed to the brow of the hill as Tom continued to the hobbits. Bowing low he scolded, "Here are your ponies, now! They've more sense than you wandering hobbits have- more sense in their noses. For they sniff danger ahead which you walk right into; and if they run to save themselves, they run the right way."

Abashed the four hobbits hung their heads. Tom patted each of their shoulders, then continued. "They forgive your foolishness, thus you must forgive them all. For though their hearts are faithful, to face fear of barrow-wrights is not what they were made for."

Turning back to the waiting ponies he called to them.

"Hey! Now! Come hoy now!

Whither to you stand!

All is forgiven, come now!

Sharp-ears, Wise-nose, Swish-tail, and Bumpkin,

White-socks, little lad!"

The ponies came trotting gaily toward the hobbits each going to their rider. Even as Sharp-ears nosed Frodo as if making sure he was well, Tom continued to speak. "See, here they are, bringing all their burdens."

"Where does that other animal and Fatty Lumpkin come from?" Asked Frodo.

"Morloth knows no master, while Lumpkin is mine." Said Tom, " My four-legged friend; though I seldom ride him, and he wanders often far, free upon the hillsides. When your ponies stayed with me, they got to know my Lumpkin; they smelt him in the night and quickly ran to meet him. I thought he'd look for them and with his words of wisdom take all their fear away. By now, my jolly Lumpkin, old Tom's going to ride. He's coming with you, just to set you on the road; so he needs a pony. For you cannot easily talk to hobbits that are riding, when you're on your own legs trying to trot beside them."

Grinning widely Frodo spoke, "Thank you. How far will you go?"

"Not beyond the borders of my country. I've got things to do, my making and my singing, my talking and my walking, and my watching of the country. Tom can't be always near to open windows and willow-cracks. Tom has his house to mind and Goldberry is waiting."

"Do we go now than?" Sam asked softly.

"It's still fairly early by the sun and breakfast should come first."

Sam and Merry set to pulling provisions from saddle bags, while Pippin and Frodo followed Tom to the lady who still lay in the grass asleep. Tom took a canteen from his side, handing it to Frodo he knelt next to her singing lightly.

"Wake now my warrior lass!

Wake and here me calling!

Warm now is heart and limb!

The sun is shining;

Time is flowing past; noon is nearing!

Night under night flown, sun and shadow awaken!"

Buffy awoke with a gasp, eyes darting across the hobbits and was aware of was an all-encompassing pain that radiated out from her abdomen. For a moment, hazy memory of her injuries and dark dreams made her bolt upright, only to have her breath driven from her as starbursts filled her vision and she doubled over, arms crossing over her stomach protectively as she tumbled to her side. Half remembered dreams brought a soothing language of tumbling syllables and whispering leaves from her lips. _"Iarwain, I echor coen vrui. Anvrui, I goth innas lathra ha!"_

Tom hushed her, using his voice in such a way that the hobbits heard the Common Tongue and Buffy heard Sindarin.

"Peace Child!

Wither comes you fear!

The shadow has passed. All is at peace!"

She fell into waking dream beneath words and hands that uncurled her. Tom was gentle as he tore the linen chaise. Buffy seemed to warm at his touch, the pain washing away as he fingered the torn skin around the puncture. "It is a grievous hurt and a heavy blow. I can tend it with what little skill I bear, but your body must do the healing."

Turning to Pippin, he spoke lightly, "Bring me clean the healing supplies that Sam has packed away."

Nodding Pippin went away. While Frodo came closer, "What can you do?"

"Clean, dress, and bandage the wound. Ease her spirit, and wait until she awakes from this trance. What she awakes to: hope, forgetfulness, or despair; if despair then she will die without healing from another source. A watch must be placed upon her until you reach Gandalf."

As Tom finished speaking Pippin returned with a bulging sack, "Sam says that this is everything. What can I do?"

"Be still and silent." Tom said as he took out several clothes and took wet them with the flask that Frodo held. He washed the crimson stain from around the wound; dried blood and specks of dirt flowed away until only the white of rib bone and inflamed tissue could be seen in the deep wound. Gulping Pippin watched as Tom paused over it, startling when he spoke.

"The sword pierced her through, nicking her liver and scraping across a rib. It has begun to mend."

"It looks bad Master Bombadil."

"Peace, Pippin Took. The bluntness of a Hobbit is not needed now. She will heal." Tom reached into a pouch at his hip and withdrew a small jar. Opening it, he smeared the pale green paste into the wound.

"Comfrey, and goldenseal to stop the bleeding and promote healing."

Buffy whimpered through the trance trying to move away from the renewed pain. One hand held her still as he filled the wound, then he wiped the remaining paste on one of the clothes.

"Pippin move to the other side of her," Tom commanded as he sat Buffy up. Pippin did so helping to hold her up as Tom tended to the wound on her back. The entrance wound was mostly healed, but he still packed it full of the paste. Sitting back on his heels, he sang slowly over her, strange and soft words. The inflamed wounds seemed to revive under the hobbits eyes, fleshed pinkened and the grey tinge of her skin softened to a healthy colour.

After a time the song ended, Tom took up a knife and cut away the rest of the chainse from around her waist. Then taking a square of muslin seeped in thistle honey extract he pressed it into each wound, winding bandaging tightly around her upper abdomen. Then he gently leaned her against him, "Pippin, go to the saddle bags that Lumpkin bears and fetch the bundle of clothes that are inside. Goldberry knew my needs better than I could guess."

Pippin rushed off again while Frodo watched quietly as Tom begin to remove the soiled chainse. "Should we be taking such liberties?"

"Do not be abashed dear hobbit. Nothing old Tom has ever seen. Such modesty serves its purpose, but she needs clean, warm clothes and not the burial dress of a fallen mortal. Turn your head if you must, or help me." Tom scolded as Pippin returned.

"I will help. Frodo didn't grow up in a house hold of sisters. Been helping my younger sisters' bathe and dress since they were born."

For all of Pippin's mischief he was true to his word as he helped Tom dress Buffy. A soft breechclout was pulled over her hips and a pair of brown leather suede braes. Afterwards a light under shirt and long tunic replaced the upper half of the gown. When this was done, Tom tied a pair of calf-high boots on her feet. When he was done, he laid her back into the grass and tucked a long cloak around her.

Tom paused for a long moment, brushing a wisp of hair away from her face. Then he turned rose,

"Come now, my merry hobbits.

The sun is nooning and dew is drying.

Spread the table and lay the food."

His song lightened the mood as Merry and Sam came with the food. Spreading a cloth on the grass, Sam laid out six places of bread and cheese. The four hobbits breakfasted off the remainder of the provisions. It was not a large meal, but they felt much better for it. Silence reined as they ate, but the inquisitiveness of hobbits can never be silenced for long. Sam broke it with a quiet question, "Who is _Dagnir_?"

Tom's piercing gaze looked over them and then he spoke, "Who is a hard question Master Samwise. Who she is, is something personal and unanswerable. While what would be closer to the right question. She is of mortal-kind; human in form, but in spirit a Star-child; a mix of sun and shadow entwined."

"Then she is of the Big Folk. How did she come to be with us in the barrow?"

"The tale is not mine to bear, yet these questions I have already answered for Master Frodo. Knowledge in itself is well and good, but only a fool cries fill me to all and sundry. Walk carefully into that knowledge, too much of it can do more harm than good." Tom said quietly as he rose.

"I still feel we must know. Gandalf told Frodo to be careful and secret, but this girl shows up in a wright's barrow. Could she not be a trap?"

"Aye Aurdae is a trap for the unwary. A trap for those who prey on the Sun and Star-children. She hunts the hunters. Trust in this fact, but be weary to her as well, for the shadow that lies within her has no mercy on evil."

"Then she is not dangerous to us?"

"Anything can be dangerous, but worry not she is more likely to threaten then harm. Your paths are joined for now and nothing can change that until the Valar decide her time is ended. The story of her beginnings is mentioned in Elven lore, but it is only a fragment of a truth received third hand by a generation of man that escaped the darkened East. It is said that Melkor found the sleeping places of the Second-born before the rising of the sun. He took many them deep within his stronghold of Utumno, and they awoke into darkness and thralldom. They bore no names or language. Their only life was working Melkor's forges slowly draining their life from them. It was there after countless years that Aurdae came amongst them. It is said that she had not been born or awakened among them. However, she did fight for them leading a rebellion that allowed many of the thralls to escape. In the chaos that followed she disappeared once more from history. She has always been a herald to change amongst the Three Kindred's of Arda. Now let this ease hobbit questions and hurry your meal along."

Tom turned away from the hobbits leaving them to their meal, while he went to stand over Buffy. His eyes glanced over the pale features until with a sigh he knelt and placed a hand on her forehead,

"Awaken Aurdae, Lady of Sun and shadow.

Awake, the blood is washed away and death is stayed!"

Buffy's eyes brightened, awakening from the trance she looked up at Tom and spoke in clear Sindarin. "I'm really tired of waking with you standing over me."

A laugh lilted Tom's voice, "Aye, and I tire of wit and questions. Yet, you bubble over with them in your mind. The only answers for your how's, whys, and what's are to say the Valar have a sense of humor and answers will come in time. For now you must rise and listen…."

While Tom and _Dagnir _conversed, Frodo was able to keep up with the conversation because of his knowledge of Sindarin. How she could know the language of Elves and not man drew more questions in his mind than her sudden appearance in the Barrow. Yet Tom said she was to be trusted. He listened as Tom told her that she must go with the hobbits, her responses where angry and tearful. Rage dripped from her sarcastic remarks, but he heard the despair in her tone. Such sorrow was hard for a hobbit to understand. Tom's tone was anything, but soothing as he spoke firmly.

"Open your eyes. Do not shut out the light, and find refuge within your despair. Long have you labored and longer still will you do so. The days of your awakening in this place is far passed. You may remember nothing or only in faded wisps, but this time there is a task that must be done."

"Tasks….. it has always been about saving the day. Saving others until all I have given all and nothing is left. What are these dreams? Why do I know you? Why am I not dead?"

"There are no comforting answers to you what's and whys. A veil has been placed across your eyes and old memories lie just beyond it. Do you remember your first words to me after I took you from the crypt?"

Buffy sat still caught by his question and unbidden her lips spoke the same words again, _"Iarwain, I echor coen vrui. Anvrui, I goth innas lathra ha!"_

Tom stared at her intently a sharp gleam in his eye as he spoke," Do you remember what you meant?" He paused for a moment watching her expression that was caught between knowing and confusion, "the Ring has been found. The ending of Sauron did not come as it should have. Now it wanders among a company of Hobbits. The one bearing it must be protected against all dangers. I cannot go beyond my greenings, but you can."

"I can." Buffy whispered. "It does call so loudly at times, I remember its calling." She sighed softly speaking as if in dream, "For months the enemy had been engaged. We had pushed back Mordor's hordes, Yet the stubbornness of an Elf is matched only by that of a dwarf. Years of arguments and ground gained span by span until the battle on the Dagorlad plain. It was a dreary and wearisome place. The plain was made up of dry ground and patches of strangemoore. It was a dangerous field to make war upon, but King Amidir and Oropher had their pride…."

Dream and deep memory floated in her eyes and a deep darkness moved beneath that glassy well. Whether she truly remembered or it was the memory of the Slayer Tom did not know. The Slayer aspect of her personality had always been beyond his keen, beyond what he had control over. With no power over her he had to appeal to something else….. To the instinct to protect that which was weaker. "Pride that caused the Fading of the Elven Realms, yet there is still hope. Do see those Hobbits there?" Tom nodded toward where the Hobbits ate. "They hold a weapon to defeat the Shadow that rises in the East. Yet, they cannot make it to safety without your help. You must not close your eyes to their plight, their journey is yours as well. Go with them and you may finally find the peace that you seek. Will you aid them?"

Buffy sat for a long time staring at the Hobbits. Pain and weariness warred in her mind and decisions swept through her mind….. Her next words were lost to Frodo and he watched as the conversation continued softly.

After some time the conversation ceased and Tom went up the mound, and began to look through the treasures. Most of the treasures he made into a pile that glistened and sparkled on the grass. For a time he stared at the glistening pile of gem and metal; then he called out, _"Dagnir tol sir!_"

Buffy was weary with her entire situation, but it seemed that the Powers that Be had decided that they were not done with her. _No rest for the wicked, or the Slayer!_ As she reached Tom's side he spoke.

" Lie there!

Free to all finders, birds, beasts!

Free to Elves or Men,

And all kindly creatures."

The treasures glowed brightly for a moment then faded as the spell took. Tom then spoke to her, "The makers and owners of these things are not here, and their day is long past. The makers cannot claim them again until the world is mended. Choose what weapons call to you. They bear no wrights curse. Perhaps memory will mend with such steel in your hand."

"Weapons are a girl's friend," Buffy whispered as she her hand seemed, on its own, to draw toward a long, delicate blade of damasked steel. Her fingers gently traced the line of flower and vine down the blade and to the blue stones on the hilt. For a moment, it seemed that blue eyes stared into hers then were gone. Shaking the strange memory away she picked up the sword and it's sheathe.

After she stood up Tom reached forward choosing for himself from the pile a brooch set with blue stones, many-shaded like flax-flowers or blue butterflies. Buffy felt memory stir him and she thought she heard distant voices, but Tom shook himself and said to no one in particular, "Here is a pretty toy for Tom and his lady! Fair was she who long ago wore this on her shoulder, and Goldberry shall wear it now. We shall not forget them, the vanished folk, old kings, children, and maidens who walked the earth when the world was younger."

Tom bent again choosing four daggers; long, leaf-shaped, and keen. Of marvelous workmanship, damasked with serpent-forms in red and gold. They gleamed as he drew each from its black sheathe, wrought of some strange metal, light and strong, and set with fiery stones. Whether by virtue of the sheaths or spell, the blades seemed untouched by time.

Taking them and Buffy down the mound, Tom came back to the hobbits handing the each a dagger.

"Old knives are long enough as swords for hobbit-people. Sharp blades are good to have, if Shire-folk go walking, east, south, or far away into darkness and danger. These blades were forged many long years ago by Men of Westernesse: they were foes of the Dark Lord, but they were overcome by the evil king of Carn Dum in the Land of Angmar." As Tom spoke, a vision seemed to shimmer around them. A great expanse of years rolled behind them, and across the shadow plain strode shapes of Men, tall and grim with bright swords. " Few now remember them, yet still some go wandering, sons of forgotten kings walking in loneliness, guarding from evil things folk that are heedless."

The hobbits did not understand his words, but as the vision faded, one last grim shadow came to stand before them with a star on his brow. Buffy shivered as it too faded, she whispered in from some forgotten memory. "We must hurry."

Tom answered the whisper, "Aye. Best to pack the ponies and ride for Bree."

"I don't know how to ride!" Buffy stammered.

"It's easy and much faster than walking when you are wounded." Tom said.

The hobbits hurried to pack away their breakfast and lading their ponies. Their new weapons hung on leather belts under their jackets, feeling very awkward. Fighting had not before occurred to any of them as one of the adventures in which their flight would land them. As far as Frodo remembered Bilbo had avoided using his small sword on goblins—and then he remembered the spiders of Mirkwood and tightened his belt.

Meanwhile Buffy stood alone watching the hobbits. Her attention was soon drawn away from them when Tom led a dark black horse to her. "This is Morloth, dark flower. She is masterless, but consents to carry you."

Buffy backed up a step, "Hold on a minute! Cars and Buffy don't mix. So I'm not sure driving a horse is a good idea."

Tom laughed slightly, knowing that in her memories she had little experience and she was in no fit state for lessons. He watched her bit her lip, "You have nothing to fear. She can do her own driving as you put it. All you must do is stay on."

The hobbits laughed amongst themselves as Tom handed her the reins. Buffy grumbled at first not sure how to mount until suddenly Morloth snorted and stamped her hoof. The mare jerked the reins from Buffy's slack hand and brushed her shoulder as she walked forward. Buffy backed away unsure of what to do. Morloth snorted again and huffed impatiently.

"Good horsey. Easy horsey." Buffy whispered as she backed away again. The mare shook her head and knelt presenting her back for Buffy to climb on. For a dumbfounded moment Buffy froze.

"Don't fret. She wants you to mount." Tom said. "Goldberry, knew what was needed when she placed this saddle on Morloth. The high pommel and canticle will keep you in place if you grow weary. The straps can go about your waist and across your hips to further secure you. Rest easy and know that this beauty will not allow you to fall."

"I hope the Powers that Be are enjoying their joke! Leprechauns and half-pints. Now a horse, I'm just having the perfect day." Buffy grumbled as she mounted. The mare carefully stood allowing for her rider to find a natural balance. Buffy clutched at the high pommel of the saddle, trying not to flinch as the insouciant horse shifted under her. Tom gently patted her leg encouragingly. "No need to pule like a sullen child. This mare was born amongst the herds of the Teleri in the Grey Havens. Elven herds roam from there to the Penni city of Dorwinion, watched over by the Wandering Companies. She will protect you on this short journey and the ride will be gentle."

Buffy could only cling to the high pommel as the horse with a mind of its own turned her nose toward the trail and slowly trotted down the hill. "Hey wait! Where are we going?"

Tom's laughter followed her as he and the hobbits lead their ponies down the hill; and then mounting they quickly trotted after her down the valley. As they caught up, Lumpkin took the lead, while Morloth slowed to allow the hobbits to pass until she was the last in the trail of ponies. For some time they rode with no conversation until Frodo broke the silence with his worry.

"Well, here we are again. I suppose we haven't lost more than two days by my short cut through the Old Forest! But perhaps the delay will prove useful—it may have put the riders off our trail."

The hobbits looked nervously at him. The shadow of fear of the Black Riders came suddenly over them again. Ever since they had entered the Old Forest they had chiefly thought of getting back on the East-West Road; only now when it lay before them did they remember the danger which pursued them, and was more than likely lying in wait upon the road. They looked anxiously around them. She did not understand his words, but Buffy could taste their fear, it brought the Slayer into the fore. That part of her instincts flared searching for any danger.

"Do you think," asked Pippin hesitantly, "do you think we may be pursued tonight?"

"Not tonight," Tom replied. "No, not tonight. Nor perhaps the next day. Not perhaps days to come. But do not trust my guess; for I cannot tell for certain. Out east, my knowledge fails. Tonight I would rest at the Prancing Pony. The keeper, Barliman Butterbur is a worthy man. He knows Tom Bombadil, and Toms name will help you. Say that Tom sent us, and he will treat you kindly. There you can rest until morning and get what news you can."

They continued while Tom sought to beguile them to their destinies, distracting and instructing and confounding them with his capering and song and mixture of joy and nonsense that was in truth sense beyond understanding. While the Slayer watched around them guarding her charges….

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Only the sounds of rushing water could be heard within the valley. No voices lifted in song… No birds chirped…. A deep solemn silence barely awakening a lingering sense of nostalgia lay amongst the rushing water. There was movement within the valley, it seemed as if a great host of Elves, dwarves, and humans were stripping the grounds of fallen leaves and sticks. Only one sat in his study twirling a golden leaf between his thumb and fore finger. Iavas was fading and this was the last day of the Enderi Festival, a day of long memory dated not by days, nor months, nor years, but by tears.

Numberless tears stood behind him and he had seen the last of his true kin dead and faded into that memory. Even his own shield brothers, friends, and those whom he had trained were but a whisper upon the wind. Yet, for all those memories only one was in his thoughts this day, one who had fallen before seeing the end of the Alliance….

Every day for an Age she had visited his dreams. He could not have her. No matter how much some part of him might wish otherwise. He was of the Eldar and she was an Edain or at least something of mortal-kind. No matter her origins she was lost. Now only a faint memory that haunted his dreams. This….. obsession was pointless and brought him nothing but despair. He did not need more despair.

Yet, nightly his dreams turned to one with golden tresses and flashing eyes. They had grown from youth to adult together or rather he had stayed unchanged within the blossoming of adulthood while her new body that the Valar had rehoused her into grew into strength and knowledge. Glorfindel's still remembered her tiny form, all knees and elbows like a gangly colt. Whether the Valar had planned the meeting or if it was only a joke of Mandos he did not know….

_The sky had turned from a misty gray to a dark and heavy gale, laden with torrents of rain and rumbling thunder that forked and crackled across the aether. The wind had picked up driving the great sails forward from off the Straight Road and into the Great Sea. The swan ship was a massive seaworthy artwork; from bow to stern she was eighty and one half ells with three quarter decks and four full decks, a __fore-mast, main-mast and mizzen-mast, and canvas made of hemp. __The water rippled on either side of the white breast beneath the curving neck of the bowsprit. Its beak shone like burnished gold, and its eyes glinted like jet set in yellow stones; its huge white wings were half lifted. _

_Between the backend of those wings stood the forecastle that led to the inner decks, but before it lay a lowered portion of deck where a double-skinned pavilion had been erected. The outer layer was a silvered oilskin to keep the water and wind from disturbing the occupant. Inside the pavilion was __partitioned into two separate areas. The area closest to the entrance was small and held two low benches and a wooden table with a single lamp on it. Further within the second area was a circle of low __méridienne that were made of wood and covered with thick rugs and an assortment of pillows and cushions. At the center of the circle stood a table with an open firepot setting at its center. On one of the méridienne __a youth in body, barely past its puberty, huddled. His knees were drawn up, with arms wrapped around them. At every crack of thunder he shrank further into his knees that were already wet with tears. There in that storm he slowly come to himself remembering words spoken in whispers and a scroll thrust into his hands. The scroll bore the symbol of Manwe within its white wax seal. _

_He shuddered whether with cold or fear he did not know. Elves had carried him here directly from the Gardens of Lorien and to the ship. Through the journey they spoke of few things, answering none of his questions only meeting them with a gentle silence. On the docks __of Avallonë two maiar awaited him, they had taken the form of Elves or Men that were of great age. None of them had spoken to him, but allowed the Telerian sailors to take him from his escort and lead him upon the ship. The Telerian mariners never left the ship, all had made this same journey many times, being the only people who were allowed to sail back and forth between Middle-earth and the Lonely Island – never setting foot on the Isle themselves – where many of those who had returned to the West after the War of Wrath still dwelt. But it was forbidden for them to go any further than Tol Eressëa – unless they wanted to remain in Valinor._ _They had taken him to a cabin on the second deck that had a portal to see out of. Time flew swiftly for him and everyone left him alone for the first few days after sailing forth from the haven. _

_Whether it was from being recently rehoused or from the rolling tide he grew seasick and could not stand the confinement of the cabin, so the sailors erected the pavilion for him with strict instructions that he was to stay out from under foot. __The Teleri sailors gave the rolling of the ship, or the endless ocean no notice, the sea was their blood and the wind their bone. Thus he had spent the last senight within the confines of the pavilion, his time spent sleeping and getting use to the roll of the ship. But this storm was impossible to get use to….. At each crack of thunder he whimpered and cringed further into the cushions that surrounded him. He did not see the cloth of the pavilion entrance be swept aside, nor the presence of one of the embodied maiar come within two steps of him until a pair of hands took hold of him and drew him against grey cloth of a chest. __Crooning softly until he calmed down. ""Shh, little one. All is well. You are safe."_

_Olórin held him close shushing him until the storm of tears passed. Finally when Glorfindel was calm enough to look up once more he found the wizened maiar holding him as if he were a child. Sniffling tearfully Glorfindel pressed himself further into the embrace. "Why am I here? I want to go home."_

_The Maia smiled warmly, "Home is where ever your heart is at peace. Yet every child must leave their home in order to grow. And grow you must in strength and wisdom to complete the tasks you are to be given. Lord Manwe wrote it out in the scroll you were given. When we reach the Havens all will be clear. First thou must ready yourself to meet your companion."_

"_My companion?"_

"_Aye. She was brought aboard during the same time you were, but she was in no state to be awakened from the slumber that __Irmo induced in her. There are things you must know of her before you meet. They are of dark deeds and of things that the Valar rarely speak of. You will be the first to know her past and I ask you to always keep the darkest deeds to yourself. Her name in the beginning was __Nehtar. She was a maia in service to __Oromë until she was lured into the service of Melkor. How or why she did so is unknown to me, but she served him until Oromë captured her and she stood in judgment before Manwe. __Nehtar's punishment was a fate more bitter and in some ways crueler than any other. She was Unmade and diminished, then sent between the Circles of the Worlds until she was given to another to serve. There in that place she was entwined with a selde of the fira, what was created was something new and different. They__ chained the __selde__ to the floor of a cave, and imbued her with __Nehtar's__ heart, soul and spirit. The selde now had a greater strength, speed, reflexes, agility, and a predator instinct. She became close to what an elf possesses, her lifespan is long and few have died a natural death. This new creature and her line became __Dagnir or Slayers. Each Slayer has been so entwined until Nehtar no longer can exist alone. The final Slayer is now aboard this ship; in her world she was named Buffy Anne Summers, but the Valar have renamed her Aurdae._ _Aurdae is to be in your charge, teach and train her as if she were one of your House."_

"_Mine to train and care for? Why?"_

"_Your fates are bound together for a time. She is the last Slayer and must learn to live within this place. Come now it is time to meet her."_

_Olórin gently placed Glorfindel on his feet and took his hand leading him from the pavillion and into the lower decks of the ship. First down a shallow ladder into the long galley that took up the first quarter deck then down three more steps into a narrow passage that held two great cabins on either side of the forecastles second quarter deck. Going to the port door Olórin opened the door and stepped inside. The cabin was spacious with two wide, square berth filling each corner with a sailcloth dividing the berths from the rest of the cabin. The area closest to the door held a small table and chairs in which the brown cloaked Aiwendil_ _sat with small bowl of stew and buttered bread before him. He nodded to them as_ _Olórin led Glorfindel to the berth on the right. Olórin stopped and motioned for him to sit on the edge of the bed. Within the berth there was a lump of blankets and __golden tresses. Glorfindel reach out to brush away a lock of hair revealing a tiny narrow face that was relaxed in sleep. He stared at the child for a long time taking in the soft breaths and restfully heartbeat. The child before him looked like an elfling of twenty. She was fair like the Vanyar, but her complextion was more sun-kissed than any elf. _

_Olórin interrupted his observations, "Lord Namo decided that it would be best if she was given the form of an elven child. She would be less of a threat and would not age as rapidly. However she was released before becoming accustom to this new body, the __necessary connections between hröa and fëa were not completed. Thus she will need someone to help her learn them. Aurdae's memories will return as her body grows and strengthens. The future is not set in stone, but her years and tasks will be long. Will you fulfill this task no matter how difficult it becomes or what must be done?"_

_Glorfindel nodded…._

His mind lifted itself back from the memory and his promise. The twirling leaf between his fore finger and thumb suddenly reminded him strongly of the wooded chest in the drawer of the desk. Laying the leaf down beside the completed boat Glorfindel opened the largest drawer on the right side of his desk. Pushing aside several sheaves of parchment he sprang a hidden catch that opened the false bottom of the drawer. For a moment his hand hovered over a cherry-wood box carved with Vása**, **the heart of fire and Rána, the Wayward into the lid of the chest. Steeling himself Glorfindel lifted the chest from the drawer and laid it in his lap. Opening it carefully he laid the lid aside, and peered into the depths of the box. Some of the items were centuries old and were brittle to the touch, but one small doe-skin back had been replaced just a few seasons before. Before he could open the bag a knock sounded at the door of his chambers and the door was swung inward before he could bid them enter.

In the doorway stood the Hir of Imladris, Elrond was dressed in formal robes and mithril circlet on his brow. His expression was stern as he took in the scene before him. Sighing he stepped into the room and latched the door behind him. "It must end here, Glorfindel," Elrond said, "else the price of your sorrow will drive you to grief."

"My sorrow is my own. How I deal with it is my own business as well." He said as he stood and turned away from Elrond.

Elrond stared at the broad back of his Captain of the Guard. He had known Glorfindel for almost two ages of Arda, had shared sorrow, triumph, and joy with him, but on the topic of Aurdae they had always clashed. Elrond searched for what to say to this stubborn elf-lord. "You do not deal with your sorrow. During this time every year you act if you are fading, rejecting all sustenance and comfort until the _fëa_ drifts free of the _hröa_ and answers the call to Mandos. Three days now you have confined yourself to these chambers lost in memory and I say no more! I did not know her as well as you did, but I remember her one rule, 'Do not die.' It was something we as Eldar could understand. Yet, when we could not find her among the living or the slain you said we could weep for the dead once we had done what we could for the living. Glorfindel, you never did weep for her. I know that she and you were as close a sibling or shield-mates. Even though she was so young, you understood each other. In the old days, it was glorious to watch you side by side. I know you do not wish to talk of her….. That each Enderi Festival, you lock yourself within a grim shell and build the same leaf boat and float it from the upper falls as everyone else. It is time to release the memory of her. She has gone beyond the circles of this world and will never return. Aurdae did not die to spite you. It just happened…." Elrond said softly.

Glorfindel allowed the box to fall from his hand and turned swiftly to face Elrond, anger lacing his voice. "Spite or not she was a fool! I tried to talk sense into her and she still chose to leave the encampment that day…. To stand, fight, and die! She chose it! She once told me that death was her gift. Elrond she wanted to die… Why did she want to die?"

Elrond shook his head, "I do not know. Her death grieved all of us that day and to not find her body was even more worrisome. There has been questions in our hearts for an Age of Man_. Mellon_ it is time to lay aside those questions and weep for her. It is time to let her go….."

"I cannot. Not yet. Would you council me to leave her to Eluréd and Elurín's fate? Some part of me says she still lives. There is a bond between us that cannot be sundered save by death; and it constantly leads my heart to hers, along paths of light and hope and love, when all else in the world withers and fails."

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**All Translations are approximate.**

Aurdae- sunshadow (Sindarin)

Dagnir- slayer (Sindarin)

"Dagnir, Uuma ma'ten' rashwe, ta tuluva a'lle!"- " Slayer, Don't look for trouble it will come to you!" (Sindarin)

"Dagnir tol sir!"- Slayer comes here!" (Sindarin)

"Iarwain, I echor coen vrui. Anvrui, I goth innas lathra ha!"- "The ring calls loudly. Too loudly, the enemy will hear it!" (Sindarin)

Nehtar- Slayer (quenya)

hröa – body

fëa- soul

**Places:**

Máhanaxar- the Ring of Doom outside the golden western gates of the city of the Valar. Here the Powers gathered to hold their great councils, bathed in the light of the Two Trees while those Trees still stood, and here some of the most momentous decisions of Eä's history were made.

Carn Dum- the capital of Angmar

**People:**

King Amidir- a Sindarin Elf of Doriath, who later became the King of Lórien.

King Oropher- a Sindarin Elf of Doriath who became the King of the Silvan Elves of Greenwood the Great (Mirkwood) during the Second Age; he was killed during the Battle of Dagorlad.


	3. Chapter Two

**Title:** Bara-lim A Dagnir's Tale

**By:** Wolfete

**Disclaimer:**

This is a work of fan fiction. All identifiable artwork, characters, places, events and concepts belong to their respectable creators. This includes, but is not limited to any publicly recognizable material that is the exclusive property of Tolkien Enterprises and/or New Line Cinema_, _Joss Whedon and/or Mutant Enemy Productions, and any material or concepts that are borrowed from other works on this site or others as after dozens and even hundreds of read stories one tends to subconsciously use such material. All other characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Neither this fiction site, nor the author has received any payment for this story. However all rights are reserved by the author only, including the right to reproduce this story, or portions thereof, in any form. This includes transmitting it in any form or by any means, electronical or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the author.

**Rating:** T

**Warnings: **This fan fiction is not meant to be read by children, teens under the age of fifteen without parental consent, overly dramatic teens and adults, people who cannot discern reality, who may have a nervous disposition, and those who are overly sensitive to any of the following- This story contains imaginary blood and gore, explicit descriptions of medieval torture, mild scenes of a sexual nature, mild language, imitable acts, graphic violence, smoking, drinking, cursing, racist situations, politics, criminal activities, anger management techniques, hints of sexual perversion, child abuse, spousal battering, incest, descriptions of animals scavenging on bodies found in wild places, and other unsavory doings, as well as corruption in local governments and the courts.

**A/N:** It has been a little over a year since this was updated and I have made some significant changes to the plot line. So please reread each chapter. As always this is a Work in Progress.

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**Book One: A Weaving of Threads **

**Part One: A Road to Rivendell **

**Chapter Two: The Prancing Pony**

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_**I FEED a flame within, which so torments me **_

_**That it both pains my heart, and yet contents me: **_

_**'Tis such a pleasing smart, and I so love it, T**_

_**hat I had rather die than once remove it.**_

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_Enderi 3, 3018 _

_Below the Northern Barrows Pass_

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Tom stayed with them until they came out of the low-lands. Then with a stern warning and song he strayed back the way they had come. The Slayer had watched him go, lost within razor instincts that took in every sound and sight around them. Sounds so different from what she was use to; Buffy started and turned at every noise. A bird singing in the hedge, the rain-scented wind in the leaves. Shaking herself, Buffy pulled the cloak tighter around her lifting the hood until she was deep within its folds.

The rain-laden dusk slowly settled around them as they rode down toward Bree. Twinkling lights began to light the some hundred houses of the Big Folk, mostly above the Road, nestled on the hillside with windows looking west. Those lights drew the ponies into bone jarring trot, but this did little to stifle conversation.

"I am sorry to take leave of Master Bombadil," said Sam. "He's a caution and no mistake. I reckon we may go a good deal further and see naught better, nor queerer. But I won't deny I'll be glad to see this _Prancing Pony_ he spoke of. I hope it'll be like The Green Dragon away back home! What sort of folk are they in Bree?"

"There are hobbits in Bree," answered Merry, "As well as Big Folk. I daresay it will be homelike enough. _The Pony_ is a good inn by all accounts. My people ride out there now and again."

"It may be all we could wish," said Frodo. "But it is outside the Shire all the same. Don't make yourselves too much at home! Please remember—all of you—that the name of Baggins must not be mentioned. I am Mr. Underhill, if any name must be given."

Silent nods from each of the Hobbits were enough for Frodo, but he turned his head to look behind him at their silent guardian. The woman Dagnir had been silent since they had left Tom.

Buffy did not understand what the Hobbits spoke of, but she knew that the one named Frodo had warned the others about something. His tone and flashing eyes reminded her of Xander when he had been acting serious. _Had he survived the battle?_ She probably would never know, but she could not help wondering. Even in her wonderings, her senses tracked the Hobbits and ponies and the strange sounds of the lands around her. The hedge of brush to her left gave her some pause, something large was there listening, but it did not strike her as dangerous. Her hand strayed to the sword hilt at her waist, but the sudden voice of Frodo drew her attention. He spoke Sindarin quiet easily, but how she herself knew the language was puzzling. "_Dagnir_, we should hurry toward Bree before the rain catches us."

"Alright. Lead on Mr. Underhill."

"You understood what I said to the others?"

"Not really. It was mostly the tone you used when you said Baggins."

Frodo nodded and pushed his pony into a fast trot. The other horses followed in his tracks with little effort. Even Morloth took up the dirt-eating pace, her gait was smooth and did nothing to jar Buffy, but still the pain in the bandaged wound flared. It had been hours since the small meal Buffy had taken on horseback and the herbal tea that Tom had left her in the flask was long gone. Yet, she did not complain as she hunched over Morloth's back.

Full dark and white stars were shining between the clouds, when Frodo and his companions came at last to the West-Gate and found it shut. Buffy and the hobbits dismounted, while Frodo banged on the gate. Through the slats of the gate, Buffy could see a small lodge, there was a man sitting. But when the hammering on the gate began he jumped up and fetched the lantern off the door step; looking over at the gate in surprise.

As he came to the gate he peeked through one of the slats, asking gruffly, "What do you want, and where do you come from?"

"We are making for the inn here," answered Frodo. "We are journeying east and can go no further tonight."

"Hobbits. Four hobbits! What's more, out of the Shire by your talk." Said the gatekeeper, softly as if speaking to himself. He stared at them darkly for a moment, "And a woman-child by her looks." The he slowly opened the gate and let them lead the horses through.

"We don't often see Shire-folk or young women riding on the Road at night," he went on as they halted a moment by his door. "You'll pardon my wondering what takes you away east of Bree! What may your names be, might I ask?"

"Our names and business are our own, and this does not seem a good place to discuss them," said Frodo, not liking the look of the man, nor the sudden burst of rain that began to fall.

"Your business is your own, on doubt," said the man, "but it's my business to ask questions after nightfall."

Buffy was growing tired of the harassment that the gatekeeper seemed to be giving Frodo and was about to step forward when Merry spoke up. "We are hobbits from Buckland, and have a fancy to travel and to stay at the inn. I am Mr. Brandybuck. Is that enough for you? The Bree-folk used to be fair-spoken to travelers, or so I had heard."

"Alright, all right!" the man said. " I meant no offense, but you'll find maybe that more folk than old Harry at the gate will be asking you questions. There's queer folk about. If you go on to The Pony, you'll find you're not the only guests."

Harry wished them good night, and they said no more; but Frodo could see in the lantern-light that the man was still eyeing them curiously. He wondered why the man was so suspicious, and whether anyone had been asking for news of a party of hobbits. _Could it have been Gandalf?_ However there was something in the look and voice of the gatekeeper that made him uneasy. Suddenly a hand was on his shoulder and Buffy whispered, "_Men boe lim_"

Frodo nodded and they moved on ignoring the gateman, who stared after them for a moment. Then went back into his house. As soon as the hobbits were some way ahead and the area around the gate was quiet, a dark figure climbed quickly over the gate and melted into the shadows of the village street.

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The rain began to fall in a light drizzle as Strider came to his feet. The party of five that had passed through the West Gate Square just moments before were ahead of him following the main road to the inn. He stood tensely watching them, mind racing through the possibilities of setting up a meeting with the group. The West Gate Square was almost a perfect cobbled square, with a deep fountain at its center. A single boar cast in bronze stood on a stone base above a deep pool of water. The boar was half reclining with its hindquarters lying to the side in a seated position and it front was propped upright with water dripping from his mouth as if he had just taken a drink from the pool. The water then flowed from the pool into the long stone troughs that circled the fountain.

As Strider took in the night and listened to the babble of the water his thirst dampened his wariness. For a senight he had travelled almost non-stop. Strider, was what the Bree-landers called him, mostly because he could cover longer distances than most men. Yet, even that could not describe the land his feet had walked, the entire Western Marches had been covered in a fortnight and then the weariness and grief had set in after the news from Sarn Ford. _Had he failed in his duty? _Sitting on the edge of the fountain Strider scooped up a handful of water drinking at it greedily to quench his thirst. The water strengthened him and his thoughts quieted slightly. Two handfuls later he stood wiping the water from his chin. He watched his surroundings peering in shadows searching for any onlookers. _Nothing…_ He shook himself once and wrapped the cloak tighter around himself as he headed toward the West Livery Stable. One of the Rangers would be there as they always were, tall and grim clad in worn green leathers, grey cloaks with a single star at their breast, and impenetrable reserve. It was not far, just across the square and around to a side door. The building was large with two great doors at the front and a corral to the right of the building. Strider slid through the shadow to the side door. Old wood with a fresh coat of white wash left tiny marks on Strider's knuckles as he knocked again.

Finally a yawning stable boy with a lantern opened the door. Strider recognized the short, messy haired nine years old; Allon Rosewood, son to the stable-master Bill Rosewood. Times must not have been extremely prosperous of late, because the boy's clothes were shabbier than they had been in the Spring. The homespun of Allon's breeches were faded and the jacket he wore was too small, the cap perched on his head and the boots on his feet were the best looking of all his clothes. From beneath the cap peered bright blue eyes from a lean, hungry face. "May I help you, sir?"

"Aye, lad. Is your father about?"

"Yes, straight down this line of stalls and to the left is the tack room. He and Old Len are repairing some tack for Mrs. Sandheaver, that's the grocer across West Square." said Allon as he allowed Strider to enter; the boy then latched the door with a heavy bar of wood. Strider followed behind the boy as he led him to the tack room. The interior of the stable seemed larger than the outside because of its high ceiling. The front half of the stable was dominated by a line of twelve stalls on either side of the aisle and another twenty in the cross section. Most of the stalls were empty, save for a few Bree-lander ponies and an old bay plow horse. As they passed the last few stalls Strider noticed three mares that he recognized as elven-bred horses. Their plain and slightly ill-kept appearance did not entirely hide their breeding. They were strong and fast steeds; the bay could only belong to Torthann and the blue roan to Nidgyl. What business they had here he did not know, but only ill news could bring them so far from their Wardenship.

Allon led him to an open doorway and then left. Strider leaned against the door jamb taking in the scene before him. The room was a long rectangle; one long wall held hooks for bridles, halters, coils of rope and other odds and ends, below the hooks were three tiered racks that held saddles. Against the other wall was a series of shelves and drawers. On the far end of the room against the outer wall of the stable stood a large stone hearth with a series of low benches arranged around it. Four men sat with various pieces of metal and leather in their hands and low conversation passed between them as they worked. The oldest of the four was ruddy of face, hair as black as a raven's wing, his voice deep and sweet; Lenglinn was High Warden of the Western Marches and had made Bree his headquarters. Here could be found a network of contacts that spread across all of the Bree-lands, one such contact was Bill Rosewood. The Stable-master was a bit to gray and with a belly more of hard suet than muscle, but word was he had served as a town-watchman for many years before the death of his wife to a bout of summer plague. The other two men were Torthann and Nidgyl; like many of the Dunedain they were tall, dark haired and grim, but one was old and the other barely past twenty-five winters. The younger was Torthann, one of the youngest of the _Sorondili_; the eagle and star pin upon his breast bespoke his lineage louder than words.

Strider watched them for several minutes before Lenglinn sensed his presence. "Ai! Captain! _Mae govannen_, Strider. Long has the summer been since our paths crossed. What brings your feet to this road?"

Strider came forward taking a seat before the hearth, "Foul deeds and a task laid on me by our friends. I have need of your aid and perhaps more if it can be spared."

Practiced suspicion, kept the other three men silent, waiting for ill news and orders. Lenglinn stared hard at his Chieftain, seeing the hard weariness and tense shoulders. He measured his words, seeking to put Aragorn at ease. Like most of the High-March-wardens he knew who Strider was and his lineage. _Heir __of __Isildur, last heir of the main line to the__House of the Chieftains._ The Dunedan had always seen to all the folk, both high and low, lord, free-holder, villiens, bordars, and cottars. Through the long years Aragorn had served his people and strengthened the alliances between the Free Peoples, now the test would come. The East and North were beginning to move. "We serve as we have always served. Speak your news and take us into your council."

"Things have gone ill this past senight... The garrison at Sarn Ford has been destroyed. The march-warden along with twelve others were slain by the Nazgul as they broke through. The small group of surviving rangers held the ford as long as the day lasted, but at night the riders returned. In the end four riders entered the Shire ere the cocks crowed, five riders pursued the fleeing rangers northwards and eastwards, slaying them all or driving them into the wild. The Western Boundary has been weakened and there are rumors of missing rangers, burned villages and travelling bands of bandits. The Nandor in Nenuial have sent word as well that there have been sightings of orcs along their borders. The enemy is preparing for another attack and we must tighten our forces. "

"As it ever has, a weapon hovering over our throat. Surely even a Bree-lander can see that. Yet what other can we do, but defend." Nidgyl said.

"True, but they are beginning to slit throats now. It is a day both dreary and joyous. I have little time to debate on our enemy's movements, so these are my orders. All free-holders north of Fornost should be brought within its fastness, all Strongholds, and Sanctuaries must secure their wardenship's. I have had word from the Havens that the elf-paths are being shifted south of the Men-i-Naugrim; they will guard our southern boundary. Also, all heirs, and small children of the high-blood below the age of ten summers are to be sent across the Lune to the wardenship of Srathen Brethil. There are no ships that will bear the remnants of our people West if we should fail, but they may be safe within the boundaries of the Elves and Dwarves."

"What of the Angle?" Torthann asked softly.

Strider sighed quietly. A look came to his eyes both fey, and fatal, and one could but stand at a distance from it, safe and separate, or embrace it. Many knew that he and the Elders had clashed many a time over the years since he had taken up the title of Chieftain_._, "The Angle is the Angle and my kinsmen Halbor has held the wardenship since Arathorn's time. Whatever he feels is just will be done. It was the Angle that kept the Line of Kings unbroken and until the heir takes up his place as king I will defer to their judgment in certain things."

"Custom can rule us only so far, but this is not the time for old grievances and airing of dirty laundry." Nidgyl said, "I yearn to put an end to these brigands and wolf-heads that harried us. What other duties would you have of us?"

"Nothing more than messengers. The Northern and Southern Boundaries must be warned. Nidgyl will you go North and begin the preparations?"

"Aye, I will leave this night. I will take the Greenway north and then skirt close to Nenuial and then make my way eastward as the raven flies. I am glad that you have heard about the troubles."

"Aye, rumor and more. All shall be well if Torthann takes the Greenway south to Tharbad spreading orders." Strider said staring at the youth. "The ride will be long and dangerous with the rumors of late. Once you reach Thrabad I would have you send hawks to deliver messages to your kin at Sorontil to put the Eagles on their guard. The Nine are abroad and no one is safe."

"Best to leave now before the horses fall asleep." Torthann said as he rose. Nidgyl rose as well and the two men left quickly.

The Stable-master had sat quietly through the entire conversation, Bill was a man of few words, but to him it sounded as if the Rangers were abandoning their small folk to the wolves. "What of us Free-towns here and along the road? Are we to fend for ourselves while the Dunedain hide behind strong walls? What of the oaths given to us by the Kings of Old, _To speak and to be silent, To do and to let be, To come and to go, To serve and teach, In need or in plenty, In peace or in war, In living or in dying, to protect your kin and kith unto the breaking of the world._ Are they, but empty words?"

"Rosewood! Know your place and keep to it. Dunedain and Edain each have their duties and oaths. Ever have we kept them and even if the Shadow should pass over the entire west we shall not be forsworn." Lenglinn spoke sharply. "We have our women, children, villiens, bordars, and cottars to warn first. As we warn, every able body Ranger will leave those strongholds to protect the Free-holds as has been our duty for a thousand life-times of man. This past fortnight you have told me of your troubles and I have helped. The boots on your son's feet came from Ranger stores and the fatted stirks in your pantry are from my own herds. All in payment for rumor and deeds. I begrudge you nothing, or else I would not be sitting here mending leather to help pay your debts."

"Peace, Lenglinn," Strider interrupted. "Master Rosewood, times are hard and even I notice the hardship you face now and how my orders may seem in conflicts with oaths long ago given. I can only ask you to trust us as the Edain always have and not to allow gossip and tall tales of the ignorant to sway your mind. I have my own tasks to fulfill this night, yet I still have some time to spare if your need is great. Do you need deeper knowledge of what we face, it may well cause your heart to seize and leave you trembling in fright?"

"Why do you order your strongholds secured and your people sent to safety? What news do you have that you keep from us?"

Strider seemed sterner suddenly as he began to speak, "The enemy of old is rising in the East. The Hill-tribes of Trev Gallorg and Trev Duvardain have united against us and Angmar is pressing against our borders. Dunlandlings have begun to come north and wolf-heads are molesting caravans from the west. War is coming and may be upon us before the turning of Winter. Would you hear more, or does this news quell your questions?"

"Nay. Master Strider. I would hear no more. I beg your pardon for my ill words."

"You have my pardon and more." Strider reached into his belt pouch taking out three silver coins. "I would see your son in better fitting clothes and perhaps more food on your board then Lenglinn's beef. Harvest is soon and you will need supplies for the winter. Take these as future payment against any Rangers who are in need of shelter."

The Bree-lander sat astonished as Strider placed the coins on the bench. _Silver…. Thirty-six silver pennies in those three simple coins. A single silver penny might buy seven and a half pounds of wheat; a foal, calf, or yearling sheep; or an ell of fine linen. Thirty-six silver coins could see Allon and him through Fall, Winter and part of Spring. Was this a bribe or was it a kindness… _As if reading his mind Strider spoke once more.

"Never a bribe, only a kindness. Gladly accept our help in times of need, and do not look on us as little better than vagrants-dangerous vagrants carrying swords. Bree-landers watch us with some suspicion, so we try to take care not to alarm them. Yet, you are not of the heedless folk, so treat with us fairly and that will pay the value of these coins." Strider rose from the bench leaving Bill speechless. "Lenglinn, I have tarried here over long and my quarry will have bedded down at _the Pony_. My orders stand as before when I am on tasks such as this. Be well and wary my friend."

Strider left Free-holder and Dunedain alone in the tack room. Argument and ancient grievances were the bone of the three kindreds of Men. Dunedain, Edain, and Wild-Folk; high or low born was all the same, but the Edain were shorter lived, and possessed shorter memories. They knew and told the old tales, but to them it was only myth not history. _Sometimes he knew how the Elves felt…_

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The company walked on up the gentle slope, passing a few detached houses. The houses looked large and strange to the hobbits, but Buffy seemed to ignore them. Instead she focused on the street; it seemed to grow busier as they approached the inn. It was a massive three storey house; its front faced the road, and to wings ran back on land partly cut out of the lower slopes of the hill, so that the rear the second-floor windows were level with the ground. There was a wide arch leading into a courtyard between the two wings, and on the left under the arch there was a large doorway reached by a few broad steps. The door was open and light streamed out of it. Above the arch, there was a lamp, and beneath it swung a large signboard: a fat white pony reared up on its hind legs. Over the door was painted in white letters: _The Prancing Pony_. Many of the lower windows showed lights behind thick curtains.

They hesitated within the gloom outside the arch. Sam stared up at the inn and felt his heart sink. He had imagined himself meeting many terrifying things, sometime or other in the course of his journey, but at the moment he was finding his first sight of Men and their tall houses quite enough, indeed too much for the dark end of a tiring day. His mind pictured Black Riders peering at them from the shadows. Shivering he spoke, " We surely aren't going to stay here for the night, are we, sir? If there are hobbit-folk in these parts, why don't we look for some that would be willing to take us in? It would be more homelike."

"What's wrong with the inn?" asked Frodo. "Tom Bombadil recommended it. I expect its homelike enough inside."

Buffy listened to the exchange, looking about trying to find the source of the blonde haired one's fear. She saw only several tall grim men standing a ways down the street. Nothing save stone and rain flashed across her senses. Someone inside the inn began to sing a merry song inside, and many cheerful voices joined loudly in chorus. _No screams to warn them away. If people are singing then they are not in danger. _The sounds encouraged her and she started forward into the inn-yard. Frodo was surprised at her move, but if Dagnir thought it safe then it must be.

Leaving the horses in the yard, they climbed the short steps toward the door. As Frodo went forward into the inn, he nearly bumped into a short fat man with a baldhead and a red face. He had a white apron on, and was bustling out of one door and in through another, carrying a tray laden with mugs.

"Can we—" began Frodo

"Half a minute, if you please!" shouted the man over his shoulder, and vanished into a babble of voices and a cloud of smoke. In a moment, he was out again, wiping his hands on his apron.

"Good evening little master!" he said, bending down. "What may you be wanting?"

"Beds for five, and stabling for six ponies, if that can be managed. Are you Mr. Butterbur?"

"That's right or at least the younger! Barliman is my name. Barliman Butterbur at your service! You're from the Shire, eh? He said, and then suddenly clapped his hand to his forehead, as if trying to remember something. "Hobbits!" he cried. "Now what does that remind me of? Might I ask your names, sir?"

"Mr. Took and Mr. Brandybuck," Frodo said, "this is Sam Gamgee and Ms. Summers. My name is Underhill."

"There now!" said Mr. Butterbur, snapping his fingers. "It's gone again! But it'll come back, when I've time to think. I'm run off my feet; but I'll see what I can do for you. We don't often get a party out of the Shire nowadays, and I should be sorry not to make you welcome. But there is such a crowd already in the house tonight as there hasn't been for long enough. It never rains but it pours, we say in Bree."

Turning away, he pressed open a door to the left of Frodo and shouted, "Nob! Where are you, you woolly-footed slowcoach? Nob!"

"Coming, sir! Coming!" A cheery-looking hobbit bobbed out the door and seeing the travelers, stopped short and stared at them with great interest.

"Where's Bob?" the landlord asked. Nob shrugged and Barliman continued, "You don't know? Well find him! Double sharp! I haven't six legs, nor six eyes neither! Tell Bob there's six ponies that have to be stabled. He must find room somehow."

Nob trotted off with a grin and wink while Barliman turned his attention back to the hobbits. He paused for a moment as if just noticing that all of the company was not all hobbits. "Well now, what have we here? A lass traveling with hobbits!"

Frodo quickly spoke up, "Aye she was visiting in the Shire and we are escorting her back home."

"Aye, then. One thing drives out another, so to speak. I'm busy tonight, my head is going around. There's a party that came up the Greenway from down South last night- and that was strange enough to begin with. Then there's a company of Dwarves going West came in this evening. And now there's you—if you weren't hobbits, I doubt if we could house you. But we've got a room or two in the north wing that were made special for hobbits, when this place was built. But I have no room for the lass to have her privacy."

Frodo looked hard at Buffy for a moment, trying to see if she had understood anything that had been said. She seemed almost impatient, so he spoke, "This is the first time she has been this far from home and I believe we will all feel more comfortable together. She's been staying in hobbit-holes during her stay."

"All is well then. I hope you'll be comfortable. You'll be wanting supper, I don't doubt. As soon as may be. This way now!"

He led them a short way down a side passage, and opened the door into a little parlor. "I hope this will suit. Excuse me now. I'm that busy. No time for talking. I must be trotting. Its hard work for two legs, but I don't get thinner. I'll look in again later. If you want anything, ring the hand-bell, and Nob will come. If he don't come, ring and shout! Bari, my daughter will come from the kitchen."

Finally, the landlord went off, and left the hobbits feeling rather breathless. He seemed capable of an endless stream of talk, however busy he might be. They found themselves in a small cozy room, a bright fire burning on the hearth, and in front of it were some low chairs. A round table, already spread with a white cloth, and a large hand-bell sat nearby. The hobbits removed wet cloaks and settled near the hearth, while Buffy stood near the door. She seemed at a loss at what to do. Frodo called to her gently, "_Sidh Dagnir! Havdad ah idh._"

Buffy pulled a chair over to the side of the door and sat down. She did not relax completely, but she did lean back against the wall. Her wound had begun to ache horribly and exhaustion burned her eyes. Tom had told her that the wound would heal, but right now, she was not so sure. Buffy's attention drew to the sound of small feet as Nob came bustling in. He brought candles, and a tray full of plates.

"Will you be wanting anything to drink, masters?" he asked. "And shall I show you the bedrooms, while your supper is got ready."

Sam answered, "Aye. Show me the rooms and bring a basin here for the others to wash up."

While Sam was gone the other hobbits hung there cloaks and washed up before the hearth. Time passed slowly with the comings and goings of Nob, Bari and Sam. Buffy dozed quietly, as the hobbits became deep in mugs of beer. Mr. Butterbur and Bari came one last time. In a twinkling of china and silverware, the table was laid. Hot soup, cold meats, a blackberry tart, new loaves, slabs of butter, and half a ripe of cheese: good plain food, as good as the Shire could show, and homelike enough to dispel the last of Sam's misgivings. The hobbits gathered around the table and ate, while Buffy stayed watching them. The landlord hovered over them a moment, then took up a warm bowl of soup to Buffy.

"Lass you should eat." He said as Buffy took the bowl. He read the confusion in her features, "You don't speak the Common tongue, do you? You are too golden to be of the wandering folk, where do you hale from?"

The hobbits stilled at his words, and Buffy's eyes darkened in the silence. Until Frodo spoke up. "Where is her own business, but she does speak Elvish."

Barliman stared suspiciously for a moment before sighing, "Such odd folk this night, but I shall ask no more questions. I don't know whether you would care to join the company, when you have supped. Perhaps you would rather go to your beds. Still the company would be very pleased to welcome you, if you had a mind. We don't get Outsiders—travelers from the Shire, I should say, begging your pardon—often; and we like to hear a bit of news, or any story or song you may have in mind. But as you please! Ring the bell, if you lack anything!"

The father and daughter left them to their meal. For three quarters of an hour they ate, unhindered by unnecessary talk or interrupting. Sam saw to their needs, refilling empty mugs, and serving Buffy two more bowls of soup and a butter loaf before she waved him away. Her mind puzzled over the sudden changes that the day had brought. She had so many unanswered questions and her mind was still hazy with pain. She was barely function save for the instincts of the Slayer.

After some time Frodo, Sam, and Pippin rose as if to leave. Buffy instantly sat up, "_Manke naa len vaduva_?"

"_Ni sogham. Idh si_."

Buffy thought about it for a moment, the exhaustion and the fact that Merry looked as if he was staying made the decision for her. There had been no danger and Frodo would have two others with him. It should be safe enough and no one should be going off alone. She nodded and leaned back in the chair.

"Be safe and don't forget that you are supposed to be escaping in secret, and are still on the high-road and not far from the Shire!" Merry warned the as the three hobbits left.

"Alright!" said Pippin as he stepped out, "Mind yourselves! Don't get lost, and don't forget that it is safer indoors!"

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The three hobbits came into the big tap-room of the inn. The gathering was large and mixed, as Frodo discovered, when his eyes got use to the light. A blazing log-fire and three lamps hanging from the beams were dim, and half veiled in smoke. An older man that looked like Barliman stood behind the bar talking to a couple of dwarves and two strange men. On the benches near the hearth were various folk: dark-haired men of Bree, a collection of local hobbits, a few more dwarves, and other vague figures difficult to make out away in the shadows and corners.

As soon as the Shire-hobbits entered, there was a chorus of welcome from the Bree-landers, and curious stares from the stranger-folk. Names and news flowed around the hobbits, The Men and Dwarves were mostly talking about distant events, and trouble in the South. While the local hobbits seemed more interested in Sam and Pippin. Drink and talk wore away any wariness, until all their troubles seemed a dim memory.

After some time the three hobbits were left alone at a table to enjoy themselves. Sam was returning with a brimming mug when he spoke, "I wonder when Gandalf shall arrive? It's been several hours."

"Sam, he'll be here. He'll come"

Sam sat down on the bench across from Pippin who eyed his huge mug of beer.

"What's that?"

"This, my friend, is a pint."

"It comes in pints? I'm going to get one."

"You've had a whole half already."

Pippin ignored Sam's censor and went to the bar. Shaking his head, he peered around the room. His eyes drew to a strange-looking weather-beaten man, sitting in the shadows near the wall, who was listening intently to the hobbit-talk. He had a tall tankard in front of him, and he was smoking a long-stemmed pipe. His legs were stretched out before him, showing high leather boots of supple leather that fitted him well, but had seen much wear and were now caked with mud. A travel-stained cloak of heavy dark-green cloth was drawn close about him and in spite of the heat of the room, he wore a hood that overshadowed his face; but the gleam of his eyes could be seen as he watched the hobbits.

Sam tapped Frodo on the hand and whispered quietly, "That fellow's done nothing but stare at you since we arrived."

Frodo looked to where Sam indicated and nodded. He waited for a few minutes until Barliman went to pass and caught his attention, "Excuse me, that man in the corner, who is he?"

" Him?" said Barliman in an answering whisper, cocking an eye without turning his head. "I don't rightly know. He is one of the wandering folk—Rangers we call them. Their dangerous folk, they are, wandering the wild. He seldom talks: not but what he can tell a rare tale when he has the mind. He disappears for a month, or a year, and then he pops up again. He was in and out pretty often last spring; but I haven't seen him about lately. What his right name is I've never heard, but around here he's known as Strider. Goes about at a great pace on his long shanks; though he don't tell nobody what cause he has to hurry. But there's no accounting for East and West. Funny you should ask about him….."

Suddenly someone called to Barliman and he hurried away, his last remark unexplained. Frodo found that Strider was now looking at him as if he had heard or guessed all that had been said. Presently, with a wave of his hand and a nod, he invited Frodo to come over and sit by him.

"It may not be safe!" Sam whispered as Frodo rose.

"It's alright Sam, there are plenty of people around." Frodo replied. As he drew near the Ranger, he threw back his hood, showing a shaggy head of dark hair flecked with grey, and in a pale stern face a pair of keen grey eyes.

"I am called Strider," he said in a low voice. " I am very pleased to meet you, Master—?"

"Underhill," said Frodo stiffly. He felt far from comfortable under the stare of those keen eyes.

"Well Master Underhill," said Strider, "If I were you, I should stop your young friends from talking too much. Drink, fire, and chance-meetings are pleasant enough, but, well—this isn't the Shire. There are queer folk about."

Frodo's attention suddenly went to the bar where Pippin stood talking to a strange man. To his alarm, he realized that Pippin was actually giving an account of Bilbo's party. It was a harmless enough tale for the local hobbits, but it would bring the name Baggins to their minds and that was to be avoided. Fate seemed to run right along until suddenly Pippins voice was raised in answering a question, "Baggins? Sure, I know a Baggins. He's over there. Frodo Baggins. He's my second cousin, once removed on his Mother's side. And my fourth cousin twice removed on..."

Time seemed to slow and the whisper of Baggins spread across the room. The ring awakened in his pocket to it. Frodo's sudden fear was spurred into action when he heard Strider hiss, "You had better do something quick!"

Not knowing what to do, Frodo jumped up on a table, and began to talk, "Hey! Hoy! We are all very much gratified by the kindness of your reception, and I venture to hope that my brief visit will help to renew the old ties of friendship between the Shire and Bree…."

The attention of Pippins audience was disturbed. Some of the Bree-folk and hobbits laughed and clapped; thinking that Mr. Underhill had taken as much ale as was good for him. Soon everyone in the room was looking at him. "A song!" shouted one of the hobbits. "A song! A song!" shouted others in the room.

In desperation and feeling foolish Frodo began,

"There is an inn, a merry old inn

beneath an old grey hill

And there they brew a beer so brown

That the Man in the Moon himself came down

one night to drink his fill….."

Time had no meaning as the common room filled with song and capering dance of a hobbit. Meanwhile beyond in the parlor Buffy awoke from her doze, with a start. Some darkness was rising…. There was danger… She peered around the room and realized that Merry was gone. How he had left without her knowing she did not know, but she was on her feet in an instant running from the parlor. Instinct sang into her mind as she passed the entryway and stepped into the muddy courtyard. The rain had stopped and the stars shone brightly in the heavens. She peered into the dark corners of the courtyard searching….

#&#&#&#&#&#&#&

"The ostler has a tipsy cat

that plays a five stringed fiddle;

and up and down he runs his bow,

Now squeaking high, now purring low,

Now sawing in the middle…"

#&#&#&#&#&#&#&

Nob and Barliman had heard the Slayer's racing step and came to stand in the doorway as she spun in the courtyard. Her eyes and ears took in each corner and sound. The soft snort of a pony…. Hiss of a sputtering lantern…. The drip of the rain-pipe…. She heard no sound that could be Merry. Turning toward the waiting man and hobbit, she spoke only the name intensely. "Merry!"

Barliman stepped toward her, " Easy now lass. Mr. Underhill and the others are in the taproom, mayhap they know where Mr. Brandybuck is."

Buffy shook her head fiercely, her tone turning accusative. "_Gu!_ Merry?"

Barliman was not sure what to make of her frenzy, but he spoke to Nob, "Best get a lantern and see if Master Brandybuck decided to take a walk."

#&#&#&#&#&#&#&

"The landlord keeps a little dog

that is mighty fond of jokes;

When there's good cheer among the guests,

He cocks an ear at all the jests

And laughs until he chokes.

They also keep a horned cow

As proud as any queen;

But music turns her head like ale

And makes her wave her tuft tail

And dance upon the green…."

#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&

Buffy turned back towards the arch… her senses screaming danger both before and behind. Some darkness was rising. The worst of it seemed to be coming from the road. Ignoring the shout of the inn keep, she ran out into the street. Something crept within the shadows across the road. A deeper shadow beyond the edge of the lamplight. Buffy drew her sword, its metallic ring making the watching thing move eastward along the road. She followed until she was away from the lamplight and she could make out clearly the shape of a cloaked figure.

She could see beneath its black wrappings; a tall figure, white face burned keen and merciless eyes. Under its mantle was a long grey robe and a helm of silver upon a grey head. In its haggard hand was a sword of steel. The creature snuffed once as if smelling her scent, then words hissed across her mind, "Slayer…."

Adrenaline gave her cockiness as she spoke, "Slayee!"

The creature shrieked loudly. Trying to ignore the agony that the noise brought her, Buffy slipped easily into a battle stance.

"You have spirit… My master shall enjoy extinguishing it, stripping you of everything you are…leaving you bare before his eye, a mere shadow of yourself…" it was all spoken in a low hiss of the Black Speech, Buffy felt another shiver run through her, nauseated by the unpleasant feelings the voice evoked. Then she steeled herself.

"Oh please! I have faced darker things then you or your master."

The creature seemed a little taken aback, before it hissed again, "You fool! The Dark Lord is more powerful than any you have seen! I shall deliver your head to him myself"

Buffy launched herself at the creature. A quick slash was met by the sword and they began to dance in the street. Buffy tried to ignore the terror she felt, pushing it to the back of her mind. The sword came again, slashing at her waist, and Buffy managed to cross her own blade to parry the blow and, as she did so, pushed forward, only to be thumped back by a thrust of a mailed fist. "Keep coming," creature urged him, "let me smell your blood and crush your bones" Instead Buffy stepped back and brought up her sword to deflect the next swing of its blade. "Afraid of me girl?"

Buffy felt a sudden anger then, a red mist of rage that drove her onto the creatures blade, but it stepped lithely aside and flicked its sword so that the blade's flat rapped the back of Buffy's skull. She turned, her own sword scything at it, who parried easily. Her stabs and slashes were each blocked, until finally just as she was about to thrust her sword into the thing, it spun and blocked her sword with its gauntleted fist. It leaned into her, its foul unneeded breath washing over her while she tried and failed to quell the fear rising in her. A fist struck her wound and Buffy doubled over in agony, then she felt a thumping smack on the back of her skull, her vision went dark, the world reeled, and a second crashing blow with the heavy pommel of its sword threw her face down into the slippery cobblestones.

Unable to move Buffy did not see Nob and Barliman step into the street with a lantern. All she heard was the creature hiss and slid deeper into the darkness away from too many foes…

#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&

"The Man in the Moon was drinking deep,

and the cat began to wail;

A dish and a spoon on the table did dance,

The cow in the garden madly pranced,

And the little dog chased his tail.

The Man in the Moon took another mug,

and then rolled then rolled beneath his chair;

And there he dozed and dreamed of ale,

Till in the sky the stars were pale,

and dawn was in the air.

Then the olster said to his tipsy cat:

The white horses of the Moon,

They neigh and clamp their silver bits;

But their masters been and drowned his wits,

And the Sun'll be rising soon!

#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&

Barliman saw the darker shadow flee, but he and Nob still hurried forward to where Buffy was rising to her knees. He was careful as he rounded her, eyes taking in the sword that lay on the cobblestones and the hand that wrapped around her waist. He did not want to know the happenings of the clashing steel he had heard, but still he laid a gentle hand on Buffy's shoulder.

"Easy lass! Your hurt, be still for a moment."

Buffy did not understand the words, but the tone was gentle. It soothed the waves of agony, but she still tried to rise. Merry was alone out there and that creature would harm him if it could. As she rose, Barliman took her elbow and tried to lead her back toward the inn.

"_Gu!_ Merry!" she demanded refusing to be lead away.

Barliman stood fluxomed until he sighed, "Alright Mistress Summers. Nob take the lantern and go see if you can find our wayward Mr. Brandybuck. Don't tarry, and be careful! That dark thing could still be out there."

Nob nodded and moved away. Buffy tried to follow, but Barliman held onto her. Shaking his head he said, "No!" Then he pointed after Nob and said firmly, "Nob will find Merry."

"Merry?" Buffy asked confusedly.

"Aye lass, Nob will find Merry. Now let's get you back inside and warn Master Underhill."

Buffy sheathed her blade after Barliman handed her the sword and allowed him to lead her back to the courtyard. The pain in her wound was worse and she felt weak….

#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#

"So the cat on his fiddle played hey-diddle-diddle,

a jig that would wake the dead:

He squeaked and sawed and quickened the tune,

While the landlord shook the Man in the Moon:

It's after three! He said.

They rolled the Man slowly up the hill

And bundled him into the Moon,

While his horses galloped up in rear,

And the cow came capering like a deer,

And a dish ran up with the spoon…"

#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#

The rain-laden night deepened as Barliman lead Buffy to the courtyard. The stars shone down amongst the clouds lighting the path of a great horse. A swift silver stream running smoothly upon the turf. A lord of its kind its hooves ate the miles without tiring, upon its back, a grey rider hugged its back whispering encouragement into its ears.

However many a league away to the west the night darkened on Buckland; a mist strayed in the dells and along the river-bank. The house at Crickethollow stood silent. A brooding threat in the breathless night-air crept under the trees. Watching and waiting….

#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#

" Now quicker the fiddle went deedle-dum-diddle;

the dog began to roar,

The cow and the horses stood on their heads;

The guests all bound from their beds

And danced upon the floor…."

#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#

Song continued to flow from the inn as Barliman sat Buffy on the stoop. He was worried at the pale twinge of her flesh and the stiff gait. "Now lass, you just rest here while I go to the kitchen to get my wife. She'll tend your hurts."

He hurried away, while Buffy stayed on the stoop. Something stirred in the inn, and a hissing voice called the name _Baggins….._ Adrenaline shot through her again as she sensed the darkness. Meanwhile within the common room, Frodo's hand strayed into his pocket and caressed the ring. Time slowed as he began the next verse of the song, "With a ping and a pong the fiddle-strings broke!

He capered on the table singing, " the cow jumped over the moon," He leaped in the air vigorously; coming down into a tray full of mugs, and slipped, and rolled off the table with a crash, clatter, and bump! The audience all opened their mouths wide with laughter that stopped short in gapping silence….. Sound stopped as Frodo lay on the floor….. the rushing of wind replaced it and somewhere in the distance he heard the shriek of the Black riders.

Crawling away toward the door, he tried to flee from the noise, but suddenly something came rushing before him. A great flaming eye that looked into his mind and spoke, "You cannot hide. I see you. There is no life in the void. Only death."

Mindless terror took over as he jerked the ring off. The eye disappeared and the rushing wind stopped, turning into the babble of fearful voices. Suddenly someone lifted Frodo by the back of his coat, sweeping him through the door and pushing him toward the passage that lead toward the parlor. Struggling against the firm grip he fell to his knees as he was dropped inside the parlor.

Finally gaining his feet he saw Strider, "You draw far too much attention to yourself, Mr. Underhill. Why did you do that? Worse than anything, your friends could have said! You have put your foot in it! Or should I say your finger?"

"What do you mean? What do you want?" said Frodo, annoyed and alarmed.

"A little more caution from you, that is no trinket you carry." Strider said as he moved to the table blowing out the candles.

"I carry nothing."

Moving to peer out the window, Strider continued, "Indeed? I can avoid being seen if I wish, but to disappear entirely - that is a rare gift."

"Who are you?"

Turning again to the hobbit Strider's voice turned honeyed and cunning. "Are you frightened?"

"Yes." Frodo whispered,

"Not nearly frightened enough." Strider's tone changed abruptly as if he did not to frighten him. " I know what hunts you."

Suddenly Strider whirled toward the door. A sword flashing in his hand as it burst open. He was not fast enough because Buffy's own sword was at his throat pressing him backwards against a wall. Sam and Pippin was on her heels their own swords drawn. Sam stood at her side demanding voice raised "Let him go, or I'll have you, Longshanks!"

Strider ignored the hobbits blades, instead he watched the woman before him. She looked like a child, but her eyes gleamed in fierce hunger. He spoke with a soft laugh, "You have a stout heart, little hobbit, but that will not save you. You can no longer wait for the wizard, Frodo. They are coming."

"What do you mean?" asked Frodo as he came closer. Suddenly Buffy's left arm pushed Sam behind her and she pressed Strider back further. She had no patience for the talk. The man was a danger and Merry was lost.

"_Gu, daro pede! Noro!"_

Strider's attention drew back to the woman, the grey tongue lilted off her lips gave him pause. The hobbits were not obeying the woman, but Frodo seemed ready to.

"_Dartha Dagnir_." Frodo said softly.

Turning to Strider he spoke, "What have you to say?"

"Several things," answered Strider. "But of course, I have my price."

"What do you mean?" asked Frodo sharply.

"Don't be alarmed! I mean just this: I will tell you what I know, and give you some good advice…. but I shall want a reward."

"And what will that be, pray?" said Frodo. He suspected now that he had fallen in with a rascal.

"No more than you can afford," answered Strider with a slow smile, as if he guessed Frodo's thoughts. "Just this: you must take me along with you until I wish to leave you."

"Oh indeed! Even if I wanted another companion, I should not agree to any such thing, until I knew a good deal more about you and your business."

"Excellent!" exclaimed Strider as he relaxed against the wall. "You seem to be coming to your senses again, and that is all to the good. You have been much too careless so far. Now if you can convince the lady to lower her sword we can speak devoirly."

"I am not sure if you are to be trusted. You seem to know much more about me and my business than is safe. So, go on then! What do you know and how do you know it?"

"Too much; too many dark things," said Strider grimly. "I was behind the hedge this evening on the road west of Bree, when four hobbits and a girl came riding out of the Downlands. I shall not repeat all that was said, but it was enough to peak my interest. Maybe Mr. Baggins has an honest reason for leaving his name behind; but if so, I should advise him and his friends to be more careful."

"Mr. Strider, you may have an honest reason for spying and eavesdropping, but I would like it explained! Before I follow _Dagnir's _advice."

"Well answered!" said Strider laughing. " But the explanation is simple: I was looking for a hobbit called Frodo Baggins. I wanted to find him quickly. I had learned that he was carrying out of the Shire a secret that concerned me and my friends."

Frodo stiffened at his words; "Noro lim!" was out of his mouth in a breath. He and Pippin made a dash down the passage with Sam guarding his back.

"Now don't mistake me!" He cried, too late. When he tried to move past Buffy, she blocked his way. In an unbelievable quick movement, she swung her blade. Strider found himself bringing up his sword in an instinctive defensive maneuver. The swords met with the clash of steel

And then she was moving again, circling him, blocking, parrying, and thrusting with an ease and abandon that astonished him. One of her size should not be able to move so fast and strike with such strength. Strider had faced many foes, but few like her. She veritably danced around him, the movements of her sword like infinitesimal flashes of steel that one saw coming too late, if they saw it at all. She met him blow for blow, but he could see that she was stiff as if already wounded, blood oozed from a cut on her cheek and there was a thin trickle of blood on the back of her neck. Sweat gathered at her brow, and her movements slowed a little.

Strider knew she was getting desperate when she punched him. However, the blow still caught him by surprise. One moment he was parrying a blow and the next he crashed into the chairs around the hearth. Buffy did not follow him; instead, she whirled and ran after the hobbits.

#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#

A/N:

**Translations:**

" Sidh Dagnir! Havdad ah idh." (Peace Slayer! Sit down and rest.)

" Manke naa len vaduva?" (Where are you going?)

" Ni sogham. Idh si." (To the taproom. Rest here.)

" Gu! Merry!" (No! Merry)

" Gu, daro pede! Noro!" (No, stop talking! Run!)

" Dartha Dagnir." (Wait Slayer)

**Places:**

Sarn Ford- the stone ford on the River Baranduin, on the far southern borders of the Shire.

Bree- Free-town in Arnor.

Sorontil- Name of the Sorondili stronghold.

Tharbad- City-state in Arnor.

Nenuial- Tree-garth of the Nandor Elves. About 1000 inhabitants.

Srathen Brethil- name and concept borrowed from the world of fandom. It is a large province of Dunedain north of the Havens and east and west of the Blue Mountains.

Angle- an area between the rivers of Hoarwell and Loudwater, in the realm of Rhudaur.

**People: **

Torthann-

Nidgyl-

Lenglinn- High Warden of the Western Marches

Trev Gallorg- One of the four Rhudauran Hill-tribes.

Trev Duvardain- One of the four Rhudauran Hill-tribes.

Trev Creoth- One of the four Rhudauran Hill-tribes.

Trev Corcur-One of the four Rhudauran Hill-tribes.

Sorondili- Concept borrowed from the world of fandom. They are the one of the high families of the Dunedain that attend and work with the Great Eagles.

Nandor- One of the tribes of Silvian Elves.

Bill Rosewood- Stable-master of West Square, agent of the Dunedain.

Allon Rosewood- son of Bill Rosewood.

Barliman Butterbur- Innkeeper of The Prancing Pony.

Bari Butterbur- Eldest daughter of Barliman Butterbur.

Bob- olster at The Prancing Pony.

Nob- son of Bob.

**Other:**

Coinage: Mithril Shilling= 12 mithril pennies= 24 gold shilling

Gold Shilling= 12 gold pennies= 24 silver shilling

Silver Shilling= 12 silver pennies= 24 copper shilling

Copper Shilling= 12 copper pennies

high and low- The high folk are those Dunedain that bear the purest blood and the low are those that have interbred with other Races of Man.

free-hold- a hereditary right to land; a free man would pay some kind of rent or tribute to their lord (paying for the protection of specialist warriors), but would not have to perform labor services—their time was their own.

Free-town- a town made up of free men that govern themselves and pay a tribute to the King of Anor.

City-state- an independent or autonomous entity whose territory consists of a city which is not administered as a part of another local government.

villiens- "bound' or unfree peasants. Villiens had the highest status and might hold 30–100 acres.

bordars- "bound' or unfree peasants. Might hold 10–25 acres

cottars- "bound' or unfree peasants. Might hold 4 acres or less.

"The Angle is the Angle"- The Angle is where the many of the Dunedain of the purest blood reside. Law, justice, and traditions are held in high regard there.


	4. Chapter Three

**Title:** Bara-lim A Dagnir's Tale

**By:** Wolfete

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. All identifiable artwork, characters, places, events and concepts belong to their respectable creators. This includes, but is not limited to any publicly recognizable material that is the exclusive property of Tolkien Enterprises and/or New Line Cinema_,_Joss Whedon and/or Mutant Enemy Productions, and any material or concepts that are borrowed from other works on this site or others as after dozens and even hundreds of read stories one tends to subconsciously use such material. All other characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Neither this fiction site, nor the author has received any payment for this story. However all rights are reserved by the author only, including the right to reproduce this story, or portions thereof, in any form. This includes transmitting it in any form or by any means, electronical or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the author.

**Rating:** T

**Warnings:** This fan fiction is not meant to be read by children, teens under the age of fifteen without parental consent, overly dramatic teens and adults, people who cannot discern reality, who may have a nervous disposition, and those who are overly sensitive to any of the following- This story contains imaginary blood and gore, explicit descriptions of medieval torture, mild scenes of a sexual nature, mild language, imitable acts, graphic violence, smoking, drinking, cursing, racist situations, politics, criminal activities, anger management techniques, hints of sexual perversion, child abuse, spousal battering, incest, descriptions of animals scavenging on bodies found in wild places, and other unsavory doings, as well as corruption in local governments and the courts.

**A/N:** It has been a little over a year since this was updated and I have made some significant changes to the plot line. So please reread each chapter. As always this is a Work in Progress.

#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&

**Book One: A Weaving of Threads **

**Part One: A Road to Rivendell **

**Chapter Three: A Lesson in Caution **

#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&#&

_**Thy slumber is the great world-mystery— **_

_**The paradigm of all the latent things **_

_**That in their destined hour **_

_**Time magnifies: **_

_**Its emblems are the intimate hush that lies**_

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_Enderi 3, 3018 _

_Rivendell, Near the Middle Falls_

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The night had deepened the shadows in the trees as the precession wound its way along the paths to the High Falls. Glorfindel knew every stone and tree of the rivened valley, it had been his second home, and in some ways more precious than the white walls of Gondolin. Though the House of the Golden Flower had long been destroyed a remnant could still be found here, only a handful of distant kin, but they had been enough through the years of Watchful Peace. _Barely enough…. _His thoughts turned again to the argument with Elrond about facing his grief for a fallen comrade. He remembered his last words to Elrond, about not being sure that Aurdae was truly gone. Twenty yén had passed with no rumor of her, sometimes he wondered if he had failed in his órin had tried to assure him that was not so, yet still those thoughts haunted him in this place and a shadow of grief lay upon him on this day of all days. Enderi Festival, the middle-days of the year between Summer and Fall when the Elves remembered the past and grieved and rejoiced for it. They were the days of timeless memory and each Elven City had their own customs for it. Within Rivendell was the Twilight Processional, it began on the steps of Lord Elrond's manse and wound its way through the streets of Imladris and into the valley following the main road toward the High Pass until they reached Hidhuinen. There they spread out along the top of a cobbled arched dam at the top of the falls. It was a massive creation of weathered pink marble, that made a half circle against the cliffs of the Northern, Eastern, and Southern Falls. It was built because the falls carried a large amount of glacial melt-water from the Hithaeglir. The melt-water carried large amounts of sediment that was filtered from the water by the dam and made available to the Elves for other uses. The spillways of the dam allowed most of the water to flow freely and ensured that the trout and salmon could return to their spawning grounds. As with any structure built by the Elves it held a dual purpose. As it was being built the elves dug into the cliffs carving out a large guard barracks complex for the march-wardens that watched the passes into the valley.

The crowd grew quiet waiting for the first stars to awaken across the night, as the light of Eärendil's Star and the moon washed over them voices broke the silence:

"A! Elbereth Gilthoniel

silivren penna míriel

o menel aglar elenath!

Na-chaered palan-díriel

o galadhremmin ennorath,

Fanuilos, le linnathon

nef aear, sí nef aeraon!

A! Elbereth Gilthoniel

silivren penna míriel

o menel aglar elenath!

Gilthoniel, A! Elbereth!"

The last strains of the prayer whispered away on the wind, yet Glorfindel had not joined his voice into the song. He stood silent amongst the elf-lords deep in thought. Erestor had noticed and gently squeezed his shoulder, "It is almost over…" As the seneschal of Elrond's household he was required to attend all functions, no matter how much he did not want to. Erestor knew his thoughts on such matters, but duty was duty and he was right it was almost over, just a speech, and release.

Elrond's voice suddenly rang out over the assembled people, "The stars shine on the meeting of our people."

"A star shines on the hour of our meeting," replied the assembled people.

"The golden leaves begin to fall in the wind like the numberless years behind us. As the season of Iavas comes to a close and an uncertain Firith lies ahead, we arrive at the days of Enderi. The Shadow looms in the east, assailing hope and clouding foresight, but light still shines where friends are true. On this last night of Enderi, we customarily come together and rejoice in each other's company, and remember those who are no long at our side to see off the departing Iavas. There are times when silence is more potent than speech; when words seem too thin, tame and poor to express our thoughts and feelings. Yet, we of the Elder find ways to do so. This day we have spent in silent meditation building these boats in remembrance of those who have journeyed elsewhere, because of affliction and sorrow. Their hearts ever pressed for utterance of the pain and we remember them. To the West they have gone and may the Valar light their way."

As Elrond's voice faded another began the invocation of the Valar. First came Elladan with his deep baritone voice, "Manwë, The first of all Kings: lord of the realm of Arda and ruler of all that dwell therein. In Arda, his delight is in the winds and the clouds and in all regions of the air - from the heights to the depths. Súlimo he is surnamed, Lord of the Breath of Arda. All swift birds, strong of wing, he loves and they come and go at his bidding. With Manwë dwells Varda..."

Next Elrohir's quiet bass, "Varda, Lady of the Stars. In light is her power and her joy. When Varda is beside Manwë, he sees further than all other eyes - through mist and darkness and beyond the depths of the sea. And when Manwë is with Varda, she hears more clearly than all other ears the sounds of the voices that cry from east to west. Of all the Great Ones who dwell in this world, we hold Varda most in reverence and love. Elbereth we name her. And call upon her name out of the shadows of Middle-earth, and uplift it in song at the rising of the stars. Out of the depths of Eä she came - to the aid of Manwë and they have been seldom parted….."

The rest of the invocation was taken up by different elves, but to Glorfindel the voices blended into one.

"Ulmo, Lord of the waters deep; dwells alone in a distant heep. Roams freely, seldom seen by mortals; but the rivers Sirion and Gelion are your greatest portals; Present in sorrow, joy, and love; in the clouds you touch brother Manwë above. Patron of the Teleri, in Aman and still here; music of the sea speaks to those you hold dear; Ruler of the unconscious, the impulse that moves, spark that energizes. Be present now in this ritual held tonight; with your companions striving for all that is right.

Aulë, the Maker of the Dwarves. I call you from the Great Hall where you wroght the Seven Fathers from under Middle Earth.

Orome, King of the forest and opener of the Way. With Vana you have refreshed and served Valinor. In darkness you once sought your people, bringing them into the light. You taught us songs and the secret songs of bird and beast. At the sound of your horn, the trees did grow. As Tauron you rode forth upon the white steed, pursuing the Enemy to the ends of the Earth. Alone among the Valar you faced him without fear. And in the time of Great Darkness you helped bring forth the two great lights. When we were lost and forsaken, you alone remained among us, your secret songs a light for us all. Come now again to the aid of those who would be your people. Show us again the secret path to the High Place; teach us again the mysteries of the Wild Hunt; once more bring your light to us.

We call upon the Feanturi, the brethren, the twins who are the Masters of Spirits. They are most often called Mandos and Lorien. Yet rightly, these are but the titles of their Halls; their true names are Namo and Irmo: Namo, the elder dwells in Mandos, which is westward in Valinor. He is the keeper of the houses of the Dead and the summoner of the slain. He forgets nothing, and he knows all things that shall be, save only those that lie still in the freedom of Iluvator. He is Doomsman of the Valar, pronouncing his dooms and judgments only at the bidding of Manwë. Vaire, the weaver is his spouse, who weaves all things that have ever been in Time into her storied webs, and the Hall of Mandos, that ever widen as the ages pass, are clothed with them. Irmo, the younger, is the master of visions and dreams. In Lorien are his gardens in the land of the Valar and they are the fairest of all the places in the world, filled with many spirits. Este the gentle, healer of hurts and weariness is his spouse. Grey is her raiment and rest is her gift. She walks not by day, but sleeps upon an island in the tree-shadowed lake of Lorellin. From the fountains of Irmo and Este all those who dwell in Valinor draw refreshment; and often the Valar come themselves to Lorien and there find repose and easing of the burdens of Arda. We call upon you, Great Lords of the Feanturi, as the last of Iluvatar's children, lost in the vast darkness at the End of Time. We request your presence, so that the memory of Valinor may be rekindled in our hearts.

Tulkas, subduer of the evil one. Astaldo, the strong one whose counsel was for security. May we, like you, give no quarter to darkness. With Nessa, your strength is renewed as she dances in Valinor on lawns of never-fading green. O Tulkas, the greatest in strength and in deed, golden-haired one who is tireless and can outrun all things that go on feet, Attend us now, great champion."

Glorfindel shuddered at the thought of the Valar, not in fear or disgust but awe….. He had faced them in the Rithil-Anamo, and it had changed him. He had become an optimistic, pragmatic and endlessly patient Elf, ever the voice of reason; the warm, comforting shoulder; the listening ear; the fierce – and at times ferocious – defender and supporter; and the good-natured, kind and caring friend. Also, a pestiferous imp who never got enough of playing pranks, nor of wasting his time with foolishness and with outbursts of downright mischief. He had carried on as if all was right with the world, it was only in the depths of dreams and during this time of year that the weight of sorrow became too much and he became grim. _Could he let her go? Resign her memory to the past?_ The invocation had finished and now voices burst into song once more,

"A! Elbereth Gilthoniel

silivren penna míriel

o menel aglar elenath!

Na-chaered palan-díriel

o galadhremmin ennorath,

Fanuilos, le linnathon

nef aear, sí nef aeraon!

A! Elbereth Gilthoniel

silivren penna míriel

o menel aglar elenath!

Gilthoniel, A! Elbereth!"

As the song finished Elrond knelt at the edge of the dam and cast his boat onto the swiftly rushing water. As it touch the water the tiny candle lit shining a light onto the dark water. Soon hundreds of other boats joined it on its journey down the falls and into the lake, some survived the falls and sped across the lake toward the lower falls and down the river. Glorfindel stood for a long time watch the boats, until he realized that many of the precession were leaving. He clutch at his little boat, barely seeing it, instead his mind turned back to his friend…. _Could he release her memory for good this time?_ In his mind she stood beside him golden-haired, bright-eyed, and strong; reminder of the youth of Men, as they were in the Elder Days. She smiled at him and waved her hand at the river. _"Release me…My Journey….Our Journey is not yet done…"_The boat slipped from his fingers into the water where it rushed away…the last vessel far behind the others. It survived the falls and sped across the lake. Glorfindel watched it for a long time, a tiny light that drifted further into the darkness….

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The hobbit's flight did not last long, just until they reached the entryway. Frodo stumbled into Barliman just as he was reentering the inn. The landlord jumped with surprise and caught him before he could fall.

"Here now! What has given you cause to flee?"

The cause soon appeared with a grim face and flowing blonde hair; the sword still in her hand, Buffy stopped behind the hobbits. Quick words tumbled from her lips as she turned back toward the passageway, " Noro!"

Strider suddenly came forward into the light pausing in the passageway. He watched as she took up a fighting stance once more, desperation and exhaustion evident on her face. Slowly sheathing his sword, he held his hands up in peace. " Theres been a misunderstanding. I hope you will let me explain."

"You!" Barliman cried. "You're always popping up. What have you done now?"

"A lesson in caution has been learned." Said Strider with a grim smile. "But caution is one thing and wavering is another. You will never get to Rivendell now on your own, and to trust me is your only chance. Gandalf has not arrived and the Black Riders are chasing you."

"Why didn't you say you knew Gandalf at once?" Frodo asked.

"Because I had hoped to persuade you without proofs. I had to study you first, and make sure of you. The Enemy has set traps for me before now. As soon as I made up my mind, I was ready to tell you what ever you asked. But I must admit," he added a queer laugh, "that I hoped you would take me for my own sake. A hunted man sometimes wearies of distrust and longs for friendship."

"I say there's some mistake! Frightening my customers away and disappearing acts. These hobbits in their plight should not take up with a Ranger."

"Then who would you take up with?" asked Strider, " A fat innkeeper who only remembers his own name because people shout at him all day? They cannot stay in the Pony forever, and they cannot go home. They have a long road ahead of them. Will you go with them and keep the black men off?"

"Me leave Bree! Not with such queer goings on? Gandalf and Ranger business is not for us Bree-landers."

"Nor should it be. Mr. Underhill our conversation is going to become more sensitive and the doorstep is no place for it. Will you come back to the parlor? I swear no harm will come to you."

Buffy listened to the tones barely understanding anything except that the danger seemed to be over. Yet, she still held her stance, waiting for Frodo to speak. Instead, it was the man before her that did in a language she could understand.

"My lady, I'm no danger to your friends. Gandalf is delayed and I was sent in his place to guide the hobbits to Rivendell."

"Why should I trust you? Iarwain said to protect them and to trust no one!"

Strider was silent to her declaration; he did not know what to say to convince her. His eyes went to Frodo, who stood just as silent listening to their words and thinking about what had been said.

"_Dagnir_, we will listen to what he has to say. Perhaps it will help us."

"Are you sure?"

"Aye."

Buffy slowly relaxed, lowering the sword. Frodo turned to the landlord speaking to him, "We will be returning to the parlor."

"Ah! You know best," Barliman said then snapped his fingers, "I remembered what I was thinking of earlier. Gandalf is a good friend of mine. But I don't know what he'll have to say to me, if I see him again: turn my ale sour or me into a block of wood, I shouldn't wonder. He's a bit hasty. Still what's done cannot be undone. You fit the description he left and if rumor is true you are the person I suppose to give it to."

"Give what?"

"A letter. Is your right name Baggins?"

"It is, but when did you get the letter and why did you not send it to me?"

"Three months ago, and the first few days I could find none to take it. I could not spare any of my people, then one thing after another drove it from my mind. I hope that I have caused no great harm." Barliman said as he handed Frodo a letter from his pocket. "Now go on to the parlor and I shall send in some mugs."

Strider led them back to the parlor, taking up a place near the window. Frodo and Pippin hesitantly sat at the table, while Sam took in the broken chairs next to the hearth. Buffy returned to the chair next to the door, watching. The adrenaline was leaving her and she was shaky. Too much had happened, was happening. She was out of her element and her wound seemed to have worsened since the fight with the black man. She was cold.

"Will you not open your letter," Strider asked.

Frodo looked carefully at the seal before he broke it. It seemed certainly to be Gandalf's. Inside, written in his strong flowing script was a message. Frodo read the letter to himself, and then passed it to Pippin and Sam. "Really old Butterbur has made a mess of things!" he said, " He deserves roasting. If I had got this at once, we might all have been safe in Rivendell by now. But what can have happened to Gandalf? He writes as if he was going into great danger."

"He has been doing that for many years," said Strider.

Frodo turned and looked at him thoughtfully. "If you had told me who you were, it would have saved time."

"Would any of you have believed me until now? I believe my looks are against me."

"They are—at first sight at any rate," laughed Pippin with sudden relief. " But handsome is as handsome does; and I daresay we shall look much the same after lying for days in hedges and ditches."

"I would take more than a few days, weeks, or years of wandering in the Wild to make you look like me, " Strider answered. " And you would die first, unless you were made of sterner stuff than you look to be."

Pippin subsided; but Sam was not daunted, "How do we know you are the real Strider?"

Strider looked ready to speak harshly when Frodo spoke up, "You have frightened me several times tonight, but never in the way the Enemy would, or so I imagine. I think one of his spies would—well seem fairer and feel fouler, if you understand."

"I see." Laughed Strider. "I look foul and feel fair. Is that it? All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost."

"Then the verses apply to you."

"Aye, I am Aragorn and those verses go with that name. With Sam's permission, we will call that settled. I shall be your guide. We shall have a rough road tomorrow. Even if we are allowed to leave Bree unhindered, we can hardly hope now to leave it unnoticed. But I shall try to get lost as soon as possible. I know one or two ways out of Bree-land other than the main road. If once we shake off the pursuit, I shall make for Weathertop."

Buffy had been trying to follow the conversation; they were making plans without her. So, when they seemed to mention a place that she had not heard before she spoke up, "Weathertop?"

The company turned to her question, Strider did not answer her, but instead questioned Frodo, "Does she not understand the Common Tongue?"

"Not that I have seen. Even Master Bombadil only spoke to her in Elvish."

"Who is she?" Strider asked warily. "Where does she hail from?"

"Master Bombadil spoke in riddles when I asked those same questions. He said that the Elves call her Aurdae, but he called her Dagnir. Then he said her birth name was Buffy-Anne of the House of Summers. But from where she comes from I do not know. She was trapped in the Barrow with us when Tom saved us. He said that her memory was hazy, and that only Gandalf could help her. He said that she was Human in form, and a Star-child in spirit."

"A riddle then. I have never heard her name spoken. When we find Gandalf we may have our answers." Strider said then turned his attention back to Buffy." Men thel caran Amon Sul. Mithrandir na ennas."

Buffy nodded and sank back in the chair. She let them make their plans, her body would not let her think beyond the moment. She felt feverish; the wound thumped in wave after wave of pain. Suddenly they heard a door slam; then running feet came along the passage. Merry came in with a rush followed by Nob. He shut the door hastily, leaning against it gasping. Buffy had already risen and the others stared in alarm.

Catching his breath Merry spoke, "I've seen them Frodo! I have seen them! Black Riders!"

"Black Riders!" cried Frodo. "Where?"

"Here in the village. I stayed indoors for an hour. Then as you did not come back and Dagnir was asleep, I went out for a stroll. I was coming back again and was standing just outside looking at the stars, when I saw it across the Road. It slid away at once without a sound. There was no horse!"

"Which way did it go?" asked Strider sharply.

"Merry started, noticing the stranger for the first time, but Frodo spoke, " He is a friend of Gandalf's. I will explain later."

"It seemed to make off the road eastward. I tried to follow it. I went around the corner and as far as the last house on the road."

Strider was surprised, "You have a stout heart, but it was foolish."

" I don't know," said Merry. "Neither brave nor silly. I think. I could hardly help myself. I seemed to be drawn somehow. Anyway, I went, and suddenly I heard voices by the hedge. One was muttering; the other hissing. I couldn't hear a word that was said. I did not creep any closer, because I began to tremble all over. Then I felt terrified, and I turned back and started to bolt home, when something came behind me and I… fell over."

"I found him, sir" put in Nob. "After Mistress Summers fought that black man and Mr. Butterbur and I scared him off; Mr. Butterbur sent me off with the lantern to find Master Brandybuck. I went down to west-gate and then back up towards south-gate. I found him lying in the road. He seemed to be asleep. When I shook him, he said 'I thought I had fallen in deep water.' Very queer he was, and as soon as I roused him, he got up and ran back here like a hare."

"I am afraid that's true," said Merry, "though I don't know what I said. I had an ugly dream, which I can't remember. I went to pieces. I don't know what came over me."

"I do, the Black Breath." Strider said, then he looked to were Buffy stood, pale and shaky. "Nob, what did you mean when you said that Mistress Summers fought the black man?"

"It was when she was looking for Master Brandybuck. Master Butterbur and I heard swords clashing beyond the archway and heard her cry out. She was on her knees and the creature was above her hissing. She seemed hurt so Master Butterbur brought her inside and sent me off."

Strider spoke sharply in Elvish, "_Len harn?_"

Buffy paused for a moment. He could still be an enemy even if Frodo and the others seemed to trust him so she lied, "_Maern_"

Frodo suddenly spoke up, "Nay, she is not fine. She has a deep wound in her side. Master Bombadil treated it this morning, and for a time she seemed renewed. However she looks as she did before he tended her."

Strider nodded, "Then there is much to do. Stay here, and do not go to your rooms! The riders are sure to have found out which those are. We shall all remain together and bar the window and door. But first Nob and I will fetch your luggage, then see to wounds."

While Strider was gone, Sam gave Merry a rapid account of all that had happened since supper. Merry sat down with Gandalf's letter, reading and pondering at it. Frodo spoke softly to Buffy trying to convince her to let someone see to her wound. Stubbornness was the only thing she had left and it seemed to be everlasting. Time passed quickly, but Nob was the first to return to the parlor carrying a tray of mugs.

"Mr. Strider bid me to bring you something to drink while he spoke to Mrs. Butterbur. She and Mrs. Polly should be here in a minute to see to Mistress Summers hurts."

Before Nob could finish a two short, buxom women entered the room carrying a heavy pouch, basin of hot water and clothes. "Well now! Nob hurry along Barliman has need of you." Garryn said placing the basin on the table.

The other turned to Buffy. "You lass come sit next to the hearth, so that I tend to you."

Buffy looked at her confused, until Frodo translated. Then she crossed her arms and glared; undeterred Polly began to remove things from the pouch.

"_Maern!_"

"_Len u-peth! Cenim nenaeg, annam in nesta le._"

Buffy finally bowed against Frodo's sternness and moved to the hearth. Sitting on the rug before it, she unlaced the tunic, untucked the under-shirt and lifted it. Polly came to kneel beside her clucking at the dark crimson stain on the front of the bandage. Gently unwrapping it she seemed almost shocked when she found that the wound went all the way through to Buffy's back. "The Valar must watch over you! Most would have died from such a wound."

The wound had healed some, but the flesh was bruised and rimmed in angry red. A yellowish scab had covered it, but it had broken open sometime in the last hour and wept a thin line of bloody pus. Polly gently bathed the infection away, revealing that the wound was still very deep. "This must be stitched, it may be best if you were not conscious for it."

Sometime in the past moments, Strider had quietly returned and he now stood over the women. "I have something that will numb the flesh and promote healing."

"You have tended such wounds before?"

"Aye, more times than I can count."

"Then I will need your aid to tend her. My sister Garryn, nor I have much experience with wounds this severe. More mid-wife and herb-woman than healer" Polly said as she moved aside. Buffy stiffened as Strider knelt beside her. He spoke softly and quickly in Elvish.

"Peace _Dagnir_. I will not hurt you." He touched her skin finding it frighteningly cold.

At his touch Buffy relaxed, it was warm, almost tender. She allowed her guard to drop and with it, the steadfast will that had kept the pain at bay. Now it swept over her. Darkness gathered at her eyes and she sank into dark dreams. Strider caught her as she slumped. Working quickly, he directed the hobbits to get blankets spread out and then laid her down.

"Is she ok?" Pippin whispered.

"Just pain and fever. After she is tended she will be well." Strider said as Polly began to assess her. Buffy was pale and cold to the touch and as Polly felt for her pulse she looked up. "She is very weak and has lost a lot of blood. How she has been functioning I do not know?"

"Strength of will," Strider said as he pulled a small jar of salve from his belt-pouch. "The stab wound is the worst of her wounds, but she was been struck across the back of the head at least once." He rolled the lids of her eyes down to look at her eyes. One pupil was slightly larger than the other. "Between a concussion and blood loss she is in for a long night."

Garryn, brought over a basin of hot water, while Polly began to lay out a selection of surgical tools on clean linen. Strider washed his hands and took up a small bottle of vinegar and poured it over his hands and then over the area of the wound on Buffy's stomach. She moaned under the burning sensation. Taking up the jar of salve he dipped his fingers in it and spread it around the wound. The salve tingled his fingers, but he continued to spread it until a large area of flesh was covered. Wiping his fingers on a cloth, he took up another and began sluiced water across the puncture to cleanse the inside of the wound. When the fluid from the wound thinned he took up a pair of forceps and lifted the skin aside and peered inside to gauge its severity. The wound was extremely deep, but it looked as if new flesh and muscle had begun to knit together. He sluiced it once more, but with vinegar to sterilize the inside of the wound. Buffy stirred and moaned as he wiped away the infection.

Garryn pulled a small vial from the bag, "I have poppy-extract it should keep her asleep while we work."

Strider took it from her, it was a concentrated measure; an ounce too much could be fatal. Digging out the vial stopper, he carefully opened Buffy's mouth tipping a few drops between her lips. She suddenly tensed at the taste, Buffy's eyes flickered back and forth under closed eyelids and she twitched violently, struggling. It took all of Striders strength to restrain her until the sedative took effect; even it was almost not enough. When she ceased to move he spoke," Polly I need you to hold down her legs, Frodo come sit above her head and place your hands on her shoulders. You must keep her still. Garryn I have need of the sewing kit."

Garryn laid out the items, then rummaged through the pack until she found another small jar. "It's eversweet, if you spread it into the wound before you stitch it, it won't sour."

Strider nodded rubbing the salve into the wound. Caught in the grip of the dark dream, Buffy felt a heavy weight on her shoulders and legs, trapping her. Someone pressed into her fevered wound; she moaned and tried to throw off the weight. But it grew heavier, stealing the breath from her body. Her heart thrummed hard and fast; her breath coming shallowly. She heard the murmur of soft words and then a strap tasting of salt and sweat was placed between her lips.

Strider stared at his patient for a moment, his belt was between her clenched teeth and she was already sweating hard before he had barely begun. Turning his attention to the sewing kit he laid out a thin curved needle, several lengths of catgut that had been treated with chromic salts, and silk thread. _Inner and outer stiches, perhaps eighty or ninety to seal the flesh and to leave a smaller scar. _Strider slowly began stitching, keeping his hands steady.

The world jolted suddenly when something sharp began to methodically pierce her side. Strangled screams came through the leather, her eyes peeked open and she saw a bleary face peering down at her. Her mind could put no name to the worried face. Squandering the last of her strength she tried to move away from the continued pain, but to no avail. Soon it was over and the weight was removed from her body. Then she felt them roll her on her stomach, this time her scream echoed in her ears and the darkness raged up covering her mind.

Strider winced at the woman's scream; the belt had slipped from her teeth. The sedative should have lasted hours, not minutes. Quickly replacing it, he rushed to finish sewing her wounds. The one in her back was not as the first wound, the sword had thrust had been from behind. He was not sure, but the angle of the thrust may have nicked bone and vital organs. Had he know just how bad they were he would have hunted down some athelas. He soon finished sewing the wound on her back, when done he made a poultice of alum, thistle, and comfrey. Gently applying it across each stitched wound, he rebandaged her tightly.

Next he moved to the dried blood on her neck tracing it to its source at the back of her head, four finger widths above the hairline. Moving aside the hair he found a shallow depression and a thin cut. Prodding he felt for any shattered bits of bone. _Trepanning would not be an option at the inn, but the Stronghold in near Archet would have the necessary tools if it was needed….. Two hour ride by wagon….._As he prodded he sighed in relief, no shattered bone. She would have to be watched and awoken every few hours. Strider cleaned the wound and then made a poultice for it and took a length of linen and wrapped her skull tightly.

Nob and Pippin had created a pallet to one side of the hearth, so thus lifting her up Strider moved her to the bed. He had tended many in his time, but few as badly wounded, he gently removed the belt from her teeth. Deep indentations had severed it in one place. Vacantly staring eyes peeked out of a fever flushing face, he felt her shiver as if suddenly cold. He smoothed sweat drenched locks away from her face, before pausing with a hand on her brow. Frowning slightly Strider pulled the blankets up around her.

"I can do nothing more. If the fever worsens, I have medicines to make it break, willow bark tea would be the best, but she threw off the poppy so quickly. The dosage was enough for one of her size." Strider puzzled.

The hobbits had settled into chairs waiting for Strider to finish. Nob had piled their bags and gear on the parlor floor beneath the table. While Garryn and Polly gathered the healing supplies, "I shall leave these for you and bring a kettle of water to heat on the hearth. Come Nob! We should leave the young masters to their rest."

The women bustled out of the room, with Nob at their heels. Strider built up the fire and with Sam's help settled four pallets together in front of the hearth. "Here now is where you should rest. A warm toasty bed."

"Thank you Master Strider," Pippin said. As the hobbits settled down, Nob returned one last time with a large kettle then left.

Strider placed the kettle on the table, taking a small pouch from the healing bag he proceeded to place several thin dried leaves into the water. Then using the hearth hook, he placed the kettle over the fire. Moving around the room, he closed the windows, barring the heavy inside shutters and drew the curtains together. Slowly moving he blew out the candles and placed a low chair against the door. During this time, the hobbits settled in front of the hearth, laying down in the blankets with their feet towards the hearth. Strider finally settled himself in the chair against the door. The hobbits talked for a little, but room soon fell silent, as one by one the hobbits dropped off to sleep….

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Beyond the inn and to the west the night was just as silent; a brooding silence that had waited long enough. The house at Cricket Hollow stood silent, but out front in the lane, there came the soft fall of hoof beats. Horses were drawing near, led slowly and cautiously. The gate in the hedge opened and up the path filed three shapes, hooded and swathed in black. They stood at the door, silent in the shadows of the stone, while several heartbeats of time passed. The trees about the house seemed to wait breathlessly. There was a faint stir in the leaves, and a cock crowed far away. The deepest hour of night was passing. The figure closest to the door moved. In the dark with cloud covered moon and stars a drawn blade gleamed, as if a chill light had been unsheathed. There was a blow, soft but heavy, and the door shuddered.

"Open in the name of Mordor!" said a voice thin and menacing.

At a second blow, the door yielded and fell back, with timbers burst and lock broken. The black figures passed swiftly in. However, the two hobbits inside had not been idle. As the first knock had sounded they had ran for the back door. Fatty Bolger made it out through the garden and over the field. When the second blow and rushing figures had come in, Hamilcar had just been passing out the door. They came behind him, the shadow of their coming took away all conscious thought, and Ham fell away into darkness.

In a moment, the figures came out again; one was carrying a small bundled figure in an old cloak: it did not struggle. Another of them let fall a hobbit-cloak on the step, as he ran. The figures leapt on their horses without caution, when suddenly another horse came thundering along the lane. As it passed the gate, a horn rang out as if heralding its arrival. It rent the night like fire on the hilltop.

Fatty Bolger had made it to the neighbors, and now the Brandybucks were blowing the Horn-call of Buckland. It had not been sounded in a hundred years, not since the white wolves came in the Fell Winter.

AWAKE! AWAKE! It cried. Far-away answering horns were heard. The alarm was spreading. Between the light and the blowing horns, the three black riders could not stand against the grey rider. They fled from the him. Hooves broke out, and gathered into a gallop, while Gandalf sprang after the fleeing riders. All about Crickhollow there was the sound of horns blowing, voices crying and feet running.

The Black Riders rode like a gale to the North Gate. _Let the little people blow! Sauron would deal with them later. Meanwhile they had another errand: the one they had did not have the Ring and the house was empty of any other._ They road down the guards at the gate and vanished from the Shire…

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Dark dreams troubled with the noise of wind and galloping hoofs. The wind seemed to be curling round the inn and shaking it; far off she heard a horn blowing wildly. Then a voice whispered across the sounds_…. Slayer…. Awake!….._ It startled her into consciousness; she would have given almost anything to fall back into the dreams. Her head felt like cotton, light and billowy, her thoughts flitting from nothing to nothing. Buffy had some vague feeling that there was a reason behind the stiffness in her limbs, at first she tried to mover her arms and legs; but that set a dull ache throbbing through her with every heartbeat. It was centered in her left side; it felt as if something sharp teethed and ravenous were chewing on her.

The flaring pain made her close her eyes again with a moan. Suddenly someone was at her side, squinting through tears she saw Strider. His words flowed over her softly in a lilting tone, "Be still! All is well, is the pain bad?"

Closing her eyes again she nodded slightly. She felt a cool hand on her brow and then there was the clink of china. "I have something that will ease your fever. It will make you sleep."

Buffy opened her eyes as he slipped an arm under her shoulders. He lifted her slightly and pressed a mug of some thin watery liquid to her lips. She sipped at it and grimaced, turning her head away when he tried to get her to swallow another sip. "No. It tastes horrible. What is it?"

Strider sighed a whisper, "Willow bark tea. Take another sip it will help you heal."

"No, I don't want it. I heal fast, a little more sleep is all I need."

"_Farn, pen-neth. _Drink." Strider said firmly. The command rolled over Buffy's mind and she obeyed not exactly sure why. Strider held the cup to her lips until even the dregs were drained. Then eased her back onto the pallet. Suddenly Strider paused listening intently to some sound he caught. Then he moved the curtain from the window above Buffy, stepping over her he perched on the wide sill. Watching intently some scene that was taking place.

Frodo woke from deep sleep, suddenly, as if some sound or presence had disturbed him. He saw Strider perched on the windowsill: his eyes gleamed in the light of the fire, which had been tended and was burning brightly; but he made no sign or movement. Then suddenly there was a harsh shriek and the sound of a door slamming and galloping hoofs. The other hobbits stared awake, huddling in the blankets afraid.

"What are they?" Frodo whispered as the galloping faded in the distance. Strider peered into the darkness beyond the window for another moment and then faced the hobbits.

"They were once men. Great kings of men. Then Sauron the Deceiver gave to them nine rings of power. Blinded by their greed, they took them without question, one by one falling into darkness. Now they are slaves to his will. They are the Nazgul,-"

"Ulairi…" Buffy whispered softly.

Strider looked down sharply, saw the pale vacant look in her face, and continued softly, "Aye, Ringwraiths, neither living nor dead. At all times they feel the presence of the ring, drawn to the power of the One. They will never stop hunting you. If you had gone on, alone they would have come upon you in the wild, in some dark place where there is no help. They are terrible!"

The hobbits watched as his face became drawn as if with pain, and his hands clenched his knees. The room was very quiet and still, and the light seemed to have grown dim. For a while, he sat with unseeing eyes as if walking in distant memory or listening to sounds in the Night far away.

The silence was broken by a soft whimper from Buffy as she sat up. She was panting as she laid a hand on Strider's knee. "_Ennas amdir_"

"Aye," he said after a moment, drawing his hand across his brow. " Perhaps more than we know. You fear them, but you do not fear them enough, yet." Rising from his perch he gently settled Buffy back onto the blankets. The hobbits shifted in their blankets as Strider knelt and once again took up the rag in the shallow bowl full of water that sat on the hearthstones. With tired movements that spoke of countless repetitions that had preceded this one, the Ranger wrung out the cloth and placed it on the young woman's forehead. Buffy's body that had seemed strong no more than a few minutes ago was now trembling with chills that were shaking her entire form, and they could almost see how the cloth on her forehead was dried by the heat that emanated from the fevered body.

"Tomorrow will come too quickly and the Black Riders are gone again; so it is best for all of you to rest again. Sleep in peace. I shall stand watch." Strider said as he continued to tend Buffy. The hobbits lay back down and soon went to sleep again…

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A/N:

**Translations:**

" Men thel caran Amon Sul. Mithrandir na ennas." (We will make for Weathertop. Gandalf may be there.)

"Len harn?" (Are you wounded?)

" Maern" (I am fine.)

" Len u-peth! Cenim nenaeg, annam in nesta le." (You lie! I see your in pain, let her heal you.)

"Ennas amdir" (There is hope.)

Farn, pen-neth- (Enough, young one.)

**People:**

Garryn Butterbur- Wife of Barliman Butterbur

Polly Leafcutter- Garryn's sister, a midwife.

Fatty Bolger- a hobbit

Hamilcar Bolger- Fatty Bolger's brother.

**Other:**

Midwife- a profession in which providers offer care to childbearing women during pregnancy, labor and birth, and during the postpartum period. They also help care for the newborn and assist the mother with breastfeeding.

Herb-woman- A woman that sells herbs.


End file.
